


Melt Not In Weeping

by DC_Fitzpatrick



Category: Sense and Sensibility (1995), Sense and Sensibility - All Media Types, Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2019-11-18 18:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 94,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DC_Fitzpatrick/pseuds/DC_Fitzpatrick
Summary: Yet another view on how Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood's courtship might have gone, and perhaps a bit more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, folks!
> 
> Colonel Brandon has spoken to me again (thank God) and here I am with another tale. It's of course based on the book, by Jane Austen (which I totally should re-read yet again), the 1995 movie, because Alan Rickman is love, and this time, I have read a few more things that have helped me write, such as: The screenplay and diaries from the film, by Emma Thompson, Colonel Brandon's Diary, by Amanda Grange, and also a bit of the 2008 BBC Sense and Sensibility (though Alan Rickman is my Colonel through and through and David Morrissey will forever be the Governor from the Walking Dead in my mind. Sorry XD)
> 
> Though I have quite a bit of this written, I still don't know where it will or should end. So let us begin our prayer circle now so that I do get the idea somewhere along the way.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> And the Mature rating is for much later chapters.
> 
> Also nice to remember that whatever you recognize from some place else is not of my creation.

            Colonel Brandon watched the fire that crackled before him, rather contemplative, his head hanging in sorrow. He had never really enjoyed London and often thought of getting rid of the house there, in which he sat right now. Ever since Eliza’s marriage to his brother, it had always been quite evident to him that he would not inherit anything. He therefore, never worried himself about it. When fate had its little turn of events, however, it all still seemed rather useless. He would not marry, he could not love anyone else, he would not produce heirs to take it. There was no purpose to keeping it.

            This city was where he had found Eliza, sick, only a shadow of her former self, and it had pained his heart terribly to see her as such. It had been where he had last seen her in his life. In her life. It was where she had died, in his arms, right there, in that godforsaken house. The house was also where he assumed his brother would carry out his incessant indiscretions – but one of his brother’s attitudes and horrible decisions that drove Eliza to misery and to her fate. There were no happy memories in that house, nor in this city.

            London had now added to its list of offenses the fact that it was where Willoughby had abandoned his dear Eliza in the condition he had caused. Ill-used, scared, alone. But the house had aided her in that respect, serving as the place where she had birthed her child and rested before Colonel Brandon had removed her to Delaford, into a cottage of her own, to live her life in peace and raise her child comfortably, where he could see to them.

            And now, London had yet more sorrows to offer. He had gone back after settling Eliza in the country, upon the knowledge Miss Marianne was to arrive in town, foolishly believing he could resolve his own life. Despite his beliefs that never again would he love after Eliza, as he did Eliza, he had been proven so deeply wrong. He loved Marianne Dashwood dearly, perhaps more than he had Eliza. Now that he had grown older and wiser, surely his love was deeper. It would take a truly remarkable young lady to spark his interest again, after all he had been through. And that she certainly was. He had been numb for years, for over a decade, and she awoke in him feelings he never thought possible, things he could not remember ever feeling. He used to believe second attachments to be impossible, but now… Miss Marianne had won over his heart in such a way… from the first time he laid eyes on her, he had felt it, the beginning of something grand. He thought he could marry her, have heirs and a reason to keep the London house. A reason to keep living, truly. He thought he could make her happy… be happy himself. But of course life would not be so kind to him. It never seemed to be.

            The rumors were all about town. Miss Marianne was to marry that scoundrel, Willoughby. He had thought of telling her of his indiscretions towards his ward, but what good would it do? It would be selfish, and would not make her love him as she did Willoughby for God only knew what reason. Telling her might even make her resent him. How fortunate that he had spared Willoughby’s life in the duel. Killing him would certainly have earned him her hate for all eternity, and that he could not live with. He knew in his heart that Willoughby was not good enough for such a wonderful lady, not even to breathe the same air as her. Even if he hadn’t misused Eliza and had nothing to be held against his person, nothing to taint his reputation in that respect, he lacked depth, insightfulness, heart, real passion, all of which Miss Marianne had. The excitement and wildness of a young temper had caught her attention, but that alone could not hold her interest for life, he knew. But if given the chance, perhaps he himself could… It was of no consequence now.

            With the rumors having reached his ears, he had taken deep breaths and marched on towards Mrs. Jennings’ house, determined to try and dissuade her from such an error, hopeful that they were just rumors and that the time spent apart from Willoughby had lessened her feelings for him.

            When he entered the house, despite his distress, hope pounded strongly in his chest when she came towards him with a wide smile. She was almost in his arms when her countenance changed to one of disappointment, and she stopped herself from coming forth. Of course. She had been expecting Willoughby. She excused herself, without a word to him, and his determination sank, along with what little spirit he had. And then her sister had all but confirmed the rumors, and he could not go through with his plan to unmask Willoughby. All that was left to do now was hope and pray that scoundrel would change, endeavor to deserve such an angel, and make her happy.

            He still stared at the crackling fire while thinking he would have to leave town. He would do it on the morrow, first thing. He had not brought so much luggage that he could not be ready promptly. And the weather was still abiding. He could not be in town when the announcement was made, when the preparations began… he could not bear it. His heart… would not bear it. And if the ceremony were to take place immediately…

            Tears fell from his eyes as he pondered all of this. But there was no use sitting there and feeling nothing but sorrow. He had received invitation to an assembly at a friend’s home, one he knew from his days before the army, when he still had hope of marrying Eliza and being happy. Perhaps such an assembly would distract him for the night. And in the morning, he would head for Delaford and focus on the only thing that was left to him, the things that would provide him with some form of memory or afterlife when he was taken from this Earth: Eliza, her son, and his estate.


	2. Chapter 2

            Colonel Brandon drove up to the Wainwright’s home and was instantly surprised. He was under the impression it would be a much smaller gathering, but it appeared all of London was there. He contemplated having the driver turn the carriage around as he sat there in the gridlock that had formed, but decided to go through with the original plan. It was distraction he needed, and a crowd would provide him with that. He got out of his carriage and walked up the rest of the way to the house.

            When he managed to get inside, he instantly regretted his decision. It was even more crowded than expected. And hot. One could barely move. He was never enthusiastic of crowds, and was actually shy of strangers, but he couldn’t turn back now even if he wished to, for there were many people coming in and pushing him forward.

            Colonel Brandon was forced into a large ballroom, where the only people to have some form of decent personal space were the dancers. He would certainly not be dancing this evening though. The only woman in the world he would love to share a dance with was not there, most likely. And if she were, she had an agreement with another… gentleman. She would, however, never accept a dance with him, even if that were not the case.

            So he moved along as best he could, determined to find the card room and see if he could have a decent game before he left, or at least find a room with more space for one to properly move and breathe. There was a doorway close to him he wished to survey with his purposes in mind, and with some difficulty, he managed to reach it. As he turned to step into the room, he was faced with an unpleasant view. The scoundrel Willoughby was in there, amongst a group of smart looking people. Colonel Brandon’s eyes scanned the room as his heart beat dully in his chest, hopeful – fearful – of finding Miss Marianne in the cad’s vicinity. But there was no Marianne to be found. Before Willoughby could turn and see him standing in the doorway, he stepped back into the ballroom.

            Colonel Brandon was left standing in a corner, alone amidst the crowd, thinking to himself that it was very odd that she should not be there with that blaggard.  She was scarcely anywhere else, even before they were in agreement, why should he now be with complete strangers instead of with her and her family, along with Mrs. Jennings, who he knew was the one to bring her to town?

            His heart once again allowed a sliver of hope to touch it as he contemplated the possibility of it all having been just rumors and misunderstandings after all. But Miss Dashwood… she had all but confirmed it. All his contemplating only left him with no answers and more confused.

It was then Colonel Brandon saw her, the beautiful angel that had the power to light up his life or make it all sorrow, from one moment to the next, with just a wave of her hand. She sat across the room, wearing a light green gown that made her look even more angelic, if that were possible, despite it not being new or very much to the standards of the occasion. She looked hither and thither as if she expected someone at any moment, and Colonel Brandon’s heart thudded in his chest, even knowing it was not him she expected, nor would it ever be. Only in his wildest dreams could she ever be in search of him. Did the betrothed not come together? Perhaps they arranged to meet there and were not able to spot each other yet.

And then her search was over. He knew, for her eyes were luminous with joy suddenly, and fixed themselves in one direction only. He wished so much he could cause her eyes to light up as such. The most gorgeous smile came to her lips, and again his heart beat wildly, longing for her to have such a smile for him. But it was not meant to be. It never would be. He followed her gaze and confirmed his suspicions that it was Willoughby who brought her such joy.

“Willoughby!” Her cry rang through the room as the music stopped. All eyes were on her but she did not seem to be bothered by it as she ran up to the cad. The music started playing once again and drowned the whispers that spread through the room, surely about her. About them. The newly formed couple in town.

He did not wish to, but could not help but watch the interaction from afar. She stretched out her hand, openly, lovingly, but he seemed uncomfortable, and it took him a while of consideration before taking her hand coldly. Her countenance changed to one of bewilderment as he acted so formally towards her and her sister, in a behavior Colonel Brandon had never seen before, not coming from that particular individual, not even when he was first getting acquainted to the Dashwoods and formality would only seem proper. Willoughby bowed stiffly and turned, leaving Marianne white-faced, as if she were ill and would collapse at any moment. Colonel Brandon’s feet instinctively started carrying him towards her as she followed Willoughby to the room where he was standing before, among the smart looking people. The Colonel arrived at the doorway, behind the Dashwood sisters, just in time to see both Willoughby and a very sophisticated young woman looking back at them, the latter doing so condescendingly. Willoughby could glimpse the Colonel and quickly turned to his group once more.

Marianne went limp and Colonel Brandon stepped closer and caught her in his arms as her sister tried to hold her as well.

“Miss Dashwood, allow me to… assist you,” he said with Marianne’s back to his chest as he held her under her arms. She was numb and could not even register she was being held up. She was very close to becoming unconscious.

“Go to him, Elinor, make him come to me,” she pleaded in a faint whisper.

Colonel Brandon wished to take her into his embrace and carry her out in his arms, but that would only cause a greater scene. So he pulled her up to stand upright and he, along with Elinor, escorted her out, to get some air. Marianne was so overtaken by shock that she probably hadn’t noticed who it was that helped her, which explained why she did not protest to being in his arms. Mrs. Jennings found them along the way and followed them out, to see her charges home.

            Colonel Brandon stood outside with them as their carriage was fetched. Marianne looked so wretched, so numb with shock and sorrow… he wished to hold her and tell her all would be well. Protect her. He could not, though. And it broke his heart. Willoughby appeared to have made yet another innocent victim in his selfish games. But not even if Colonel Brandon had told her of his indiscretion, not even if he had killed him, would he save her from pain.

            He looked at Marianne so lovingly, so worried, with such despair and sorrow, that Elinor could scarcely find the courage to address him. “Colonel,” she finally said, and he turned to her with a small jerk of startlement. “Thank you for your kind help. I… am sorry if we ruined your pleasure this evening.”

            “Not at all. I was… about to take leave myself. I am only happy I could be of some assistance to you before I did.”

            “Well yes, thank you.” Elinor did not know what else to say. His eyes still showed heartbreak, even if he did not look at Marianne any longer. She wished Marianne could utter a word to him, but her sister just stared miserably into the distance as Mrs. Jennings tried fruitlessly to cheer her with wild explanations from her busy mind.

            “If I may…” Colonel Brandon started, “call on you tomorrow and check if… all is well?”

            “Why yes, certainly,” Elinor replied.

            Their carriage arrived and Colonel Brandon helped them in. Elinor was last, and she thanked him once again.

            He would now have to stay in London and see that Miss Marianne was well. He could not bear to go away without a better understanding of what it was that had happened. And could he dare hope that now he had a chance, however small?


	3. Chapter 3

            Colonel Brandon woke up the following morning regretting his request to call upon the Dashwoods to check on Miss Marianne’s well-being. It could have been a mere misunderstanding, a lover’s spat that the scoundrel could already be on his way to resolve. He would not bear it, going to Mrs. Jennings’ residence and finding him there, Miss Marianne in his arms, the sweetest of smiles overtaking her lips for an undeserving cad. But perhaps she could change him for the better. She certainly had the power. Colonel Brandon himself had experienced some of it, even if it was never intended for him. Just being in her presence made him wish to strive to be a better man. The scoundrel need only have the will, allow her to act, wish to become better, and then perhaps become deserving of her. And she loved him. Her happiness was the most important thing in the world. So Colonel Brandon must not intervene. He must still, however, call on them, since he had said he would do as much.

            Luckily for him, he encountered Mrs. Jennings on the street, not far from her house. He inquired after the Misses Dashwood, if they found themselves in and well enough to receive a visitor. Mrs. Jennings took it upon herself to inform him of the news now circulating London. Mr. Willoughby was to wed a Miss Grey. He had ended it all with Miss Marianne himself, in a letter, and left her heart torn to pieces by the way she sobbed on the bed when Mrs. Jennings had left the house. The woman encouraged a very grave and worried Colonel Brandon to go ahead with his visit, for it would certainly bring her cheer. He very much doubted it, but went on in any case.

            The Colonel did not fully understand why he would have done such a thing. That he was a cad and left women behind brokenhearted – and in Eliza’s case in a much more serious condition – when he tired of them was no surprise. But he had thought – or perhaps hoped, for Miss Marianne’s sake – that his intentions were truer this time. He thought their arrangement had been announced and settled, at least within the family. But apparently not. His betrothal to this Miss Grey, however, was of general knowledge, he had learned that thoroughly on the rest of his walk to Mrs. Jennings’ home, from the few acquaintances he conversed with and an overheard conversation or two. If the scoundrel was to back away from this agreement, it would not bode well for him, and it would expose him for the blaggard he was.

            Only Miss Dashwood received him. She was distressed, he could tell, though she tried to conceal it. She claimed Miss Marianne had a headache and that was why she could not come see him. She always seemed to have some sort of ailment around him, he thought to himself with sorrow. He contemplated whether he should tell Miss Dashwood of all he knew of Willoughby, if the knowledge of what she had escaped would soothe Miss Marianne’s heart. But he could not bring himself to do it, to be the bearer of such ill news. She perhaps would feel better on her own. He should not interfere. She would blame him and dislike him even more. He could not bear that, to be so hated by her, though he knew her thoughts were already not kind. He bid his goodbye with the promise of another visit. He would not keep Miss Dashwood from her sister any longer.

            Upon arrival at his wretched house, he found there was post for him. Surprisingly, there was a letter from Mrs. Smith of Allenham. He had written to her upon finding Eliza in her condition. He took such liberties as a desperate measure, to inform the lady of her nephew’s character, and urge her to persuade him to do what was right by his ward, so he need not take him to the fields and resolve it as men. She had not answered, and given how long it had been, he thought she never would. Perhaps Willoughby’s character was something inherited.

            But here was her letter, where she claimed she did everything in her power and her nephew would not listen. Having nothing else to resort to, she had then disinherited him in the hopes that would shake him and push him in the right direction, even if for the wrong reasons, but he had already contact, it seemed, with a Miss Grey who had fifty thousand pounds to her name, and to whom he had proposed marriage. He was now therefore safe and unreachable to answer for his actions. So it was with a heavy heart she encouraged Colonel Brandon to do as he saw fit.

Little did she know he had already challenged her nephew and wasted his chance of ridding the world of the cad because his heart urged him to spare Miss Marianne’s, a heart which would never be his but he wished happy nonetheless.

It all fell into place and made sense. Marianne had no money to support his lavish lifestyle, whereas Miss Gery had plenty. And so the cad’s choice was made. Colonel Brandon doubted he would back away from this particular arrangement.

Though he did not wish to intrude, nor be a bother, he could not help but to call on Mrs. Jennings and the Dashwoods again on the following day. Miss Marianne once again was nowhere to be seen, and Miss Dashwood’s distress persisted. This time, however, she did not seek to hide it.

“Marianne suffers terribly,” she replied to his inquiry with desperation in her eyes. It was useless to try and hide her situation from him. Elinor could see he cared deeply for her sister, and it would be even cruel to keep him in oblivion to her true situation, especially since the whole of London must know, due to Marianne’s foolish careless openness with her feelings. Colonel Brandon would be happy to help in any way he could, if there were any way he could. Elinor wished her sister to transfer her affections to the Colonel, for they would be undoubtedly better placed. But she knew very well there was no convincing a heart in love, certainly not stubborn, passionate, senseless Marianne’s.

Colonel Brandon now could not keep the information he had to himself any longer. If it would lessen her pain in even an ounce, even in time, it would be worth the dislike she would certainly feel for him for being the bearer of such news. And so he asked for permission to relate do Miss Dashwood the circumstances he knew of. He gave a short retelling of his history with Eliza, to then tell of young Eliza’s misfortune, caused by Willoughby.

Miss Dashwood was horrified by the story, yet grateful for his telling it. She believed it would indeed help Miss Marianne to better see the scoundrel’s character and lessen her pain. Colonel Brandon was too agitated, both for Miss Marianne’s situation and for his remembrance of his hardships with Eliza, all the suffering he went through. Though he did not tell all of it, it all came back to his heart in a rush. It was for this reason he had to leave right away.

A few days had passed before he had the courage to bother them with his presence once more. He wished to go away, back to Delaford as he had planned. But he could not. Not without knowing how Miss Marianne’s health and spirits were, even if perhaps his presence was unwanted. He worried so much for her well-being and his heart needed to see her happy.

He arrived and was greeted by Miss Dashwood, who quickly said her sister was managing better and thanked him again for his information before Mrs. Jennings came in to sit with him as well. After a while of conversation, when he was of a mind to leave, Miss Marianne walked in. She was pale and her always high spirits were not present, but she looked beautiful nonetheless. He was sure that upon seeing him she would find some quick excuse to retreat. But a smile spread on her face, a much more modest one than what he had ever seen on her features – though it was the first one for him – and walked up to him, offering her hand. He stood, a bit startled, and took it, bowing. There was compassion in her eyes. Perhaps she was moved by his sad history. They exchanged only the common pleasantries, but it was enough to make his heart pound heavily in his chest and his stomach flutter. Never had she paid this much attention to him. He was ready to leave and celebrate his small accomplishment when she invited him to stay and accompany them in tea.

He simply had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit slow people, mostly going over things we have already seen elswhere, but it will pick up pace. It just came to me like this, I wanted to go through all of this again to get where I was going (am going, since I stilll am not sure how it will end)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now start to get more interaction...

For the next few days Colonel Brandon was overjoyed to see the ritual repeat itself. She would shake hands with him, exchange a few words, and did not seem annoyed or disgruntled in doing so, as if she were being coerced. She did it of her own will, and it excited him she did. The words exchanged were always of the same content, pleasantries, the weather, but it was better than her complete indifference towards him. She would always possess a hint of something in her eyes that resembled pity but was something more, something like compassion. It did not bother him. It was better than no emotion at all. She had certainly taken pains for him due to what little had been relayed to her of his past hardships. Her romantic spirit felt for him as well as for herself. And to think she had perceived him as plain and unfeeling when it certainly had been dire circumstances that had made him so grave.

            Miss Marianne would never stay long among others and would soon retire to her chambers, but Colonel Brandon rejoiced in the fact she was at least leaving her chambers now. He rejoiced also in the fact that she did not find excuse to leave the room due to him, due to being in his presence and company.

            A fortnight had passed, and there was to be an assembly at Mr. John Dashwood’s home, and Colonel Brandon had, oddly, been invited. He would go, of course, though he did not understand what had prompted such courtesy. He would waste no opportunity of being in Miss Marianne’s presence.

            Colonel Brandon already did not carry a good opinion of the John Dashwoods, for he could not conceive treating one’s own sisters as such, leaving them with next to nothing to live on after taking their home away from them. Certainly there was something to be done. He would stop at nothing to see to _his_ sister’s well-being. Surprisingly, meeting the John Dashwoods only served to lessen his opinion. They were snobs, the pair of them, though it was obvious to Colonel Brandon that it was not deeply rooted in the husband’s disposition. He was made more so by his wife’s influence and dominance of him. She had no thought worth listening to, nor did she have a kind word or gesture to her in-laws. It seemed she had not called them there to be in their company or see how they did, but only to show off her riches. Their ways began to irk Colonel Brandon.

            They sat at the dinner table and Mrs. Dashwood driveled on about Mr. Willoughby’s wedding and how absolutely stunning it was said to have been. It had taken place the previous night, Colonel Brandon was aware. All the more reasons for him to wish to see Miss Marianne, and know how she was faring.

            He noticed that Fanny Dashwood’s incessant talk was done purposefully, to rouse Miss Marianne, and it was having an effect. He saw, though she sat two places further down from him and on the opposite side of the table, that she only toyed with her food, not taking a bite.

            Marianne felt a mix of embarrassment for having been made a fool and having made such a fool of herself that all of London seemed to be aware of her shame – certainly all who were at that table knew – along with sadness for her heart and how it was wasted on that love that could never be, and anger, for Fanny’s continuous babbling. She did not know what to do. She just knew she wished to be anywhere else. She restrained herself, for her wish was to get up and leave, or to hurl something at Fanny. But she would not make a scene and add to her shame.

            Colonel Brandon noticed the sadness in her eyes, and probably other pent up emotions. Tears were being held back as she stared intensely down at her plate. She was pale and looked as if she were to be sick. Colonel Brandon’s heart burned, in love and anger, all at once.

            “… and Miss Grey’s bridal gown, though now I suppose she is Mrs. Willoughby, it was said to be made of the finest silk, bought in Paris…”

            “Forgive my interrupting, but I wonder if the conversation could be changed to something of more interest. Something of which perhaps the whole table could partake?”

            Everyone looked up at Colonel Brandon in awe, Miss Marianne included. He had been rude, he knew. So unlike him. But he had tried to shift the subject before, speaking less plainly, by asking if Mr. Ferrars would not join them. Mrs. Dashwood only answered that he had other business and returned to her preferred topic of conversation. He could not bear to see this woman purposefully inflict pain on the woman that held his heart, though she did not know or want it. His outburst was encouraged by the fact that no one else seemed to hold interest in the conversation, save the inflictor of pain, her wretched mother, and the Miss Steeles, who weren’t apt to speak of anything other than beaus, it seemed.

            Fanny did not lose her composure, however. “What could be of more interest than such an event of London society?! It is all anyone talks about. Such a handsome young couple, well bread. It would not hurt to have such friends,” Fanny chuckled.

            “It just seems useless conversation and conjecture, since the handsome couple in question did not issue an invitation to anyone here present, nor are they here to hear your kind compliments to the party you did not attend.” Colonel Brandon sipped his drink, and Fanny had nothing else to say. His eyes caught Miss Marianne’s and she had a warm look of gratitude for him before she commenced speaking of the lovely weather they had been having so late in winter, ending the awkward silence that had ensued the Colonel’s comments. He smiled shyly at her and gave a short nod, his heart racing in his chest. He most likely would never be invited there again, but he did not care to return.

 

            His plan was to be quiet in the corner of the drawing room after supper and not pay attention to anymore of the conversation as to not become more vexed, until the time to leave came. He was happy, however, that Miss Marianne found a seat next to him.

            “Thank you, Colonel,” she said after fumbling with her fingers a bit, “for…”

            “It was nothing, Miss Marianne,” he smiled shyly.

            “It meant quite a lot to me, Colonel. Fanny will now wrongly believe you are rude, all due to you saving me from discomfort I brought upon myself.”

            “May I… speak freely, Miss Marianne?”

            She was a little puzzled as to why one would ask that. It was always better to speak freely and honestly. Though after all she had been through, she could understand how being so open could not be so advantageous after all.

            “Of course, Colonel. There… there need not be such worries with me. You have been a good friend and I… hope to be one to you.”

            His heart beat rapidly as it burned in his chest at her words. He quickly composed himself though, and pressed on. “Mrs. John Dashwood’s opinion on my character is not one that concerns me,” he said in a low tone. “Nor does her opinion on any subject, I’m afraid,” he said in a whisper as he leaned slightly towards Marianne. He leaned back immediately, wondering if he had been too bold. At least he had not said that it was her discomfort that concerned him most, and that he would do anything within his grasp to ensure her happiness and well-being.

            She smiled, something he had not seen properly etched on her face in a while, and her pale cheeks, made that way by her sadness and lack of appetite, even saw some color. His heart glowed in his chest with the knowledge he had caused such a reaction in her, a bit of joy, however small it was. He wished to continue the conversation, for, for the first time, it seemed it would escape its pre defined form of only pleasantries and go deeper, allowing him to known even more of her character and heart, providing him the chance of showing more of himself in the hopes that some aspect of him could please her. But unfortunately, Mr. Dashwood called him into conversation and escorted him to another seat, farther away from what delighted his heart.

            He sat and tried to listen patiently to such an unsavory person as he rambled on about how lovely his sister, Miss Dashwood, was. Colonel Brandon agreed, but did not understand at first why he was singing her praises to him. He then realized that he hoped to induce him to marry her, perhaps to ease his conscious of not providing for them. Little did he know that was not the sister that made the Colonel’s heart sing, though he had much admiration and respect for Miss Dashwood, and even a deeper friendship than what he had with the object of his heart’s desire.

            John Dashwood began to lament Miss Marianne’s appearance, which according to him was very pleasant once, but has been washed away. Colonel Brandon wished to say he still thought she was the most beautiful creature on Earth, but held his tongue. Her brother then lamented she would most likely never get married, for she was no longer pretty and had not a penny to her name for a dowry.

            “Yes, your father would certainly be very saddened to see his daughters left in such a state as to barely have means to support themselves, so far away from their home.” Colonel Brandon could not hold his tongue any longer.

            Mr. Dashwood seemed to have been caught off guard, but quickly recovered, stating that his condition did not allow him to do more than he had done, for money was already tight as it was.

            “I am sure it is. Your wife’s lavish dresses and reformations to your home must require much upkeep.”

            Mr. Dashwood was left embarrassed as Colonel Brandon stood to seek a drink, and in hopes of regaining his seat next to Miss Marianne.

            Though it was neither of the gentleman’s intention, especially not her brother’s – which is why he took Colonel Brandon away in the first place – Marianne heard the whole conversation from where she sat.

            She was very surprised by the Colonel’s behavior that evening. A man she took for dull and lifeless for so long, having such passion to speak his mind… of course he must have had passion when he was young, but the hardships life had presented him with must have stripped him of all of it. She wondered what might have occurred for him to recover it tonight. Little did she know that she was the one who stirred such strong emotions in him.

            She did not know the cause, but she quite liked him like this, so much so that a piece of her shattered heart beat dully in her chest, showing some sign of life for the first time in weeks. She had already grown to better appreciate him and his past heartache, but now, to see him defend her and her family so fervently… he was such a dependable and valuable friend. Another light jolt awoke some part of her heart momentarily as she thought of his kindness.

            However, she then remembered his sorrows, how horrible it was that two people who had loved each other from such a young age to have such terrible fates. That brought her own sorrows rushing back into her chest and mind. How terribly unfair life was!

            Marianne noticed that her brother had seized the Colonel’s attention again, and was showing him Elinor’s paintings. It seemed these people were completely stripped of shame. Or if they had any, it did not last long, he thought disgruntled as he endured Mr. Dashwood’s babbling once again. Colonel Brandon’s praises for Miss Dashwood’s talents were high, and Marianne was grateful for it. Her brother too was happy with it, thinking that in no time they would have a noble addition to the family, and his conscious could be completely relieved, if he indeed had one. His wife and mother-in-law, however, did not share the Colonel’s opinion.

            They began to speak ill of the paintings in a veiled manner, claiming a Miss Morton had superior talents. Marianne did not understand, nor could she bear their disdain. Elinor and Mr. Ferrars had found an attachment, she was certain, though they did not show it avidly as she would, as she had. And she could not have the likes of Fanny meddling in their relationship, trying to keep them apart. Her romantic spirit needed for _something_ to work out, _one_ successful love story, so her heart could rekindle some form of hope in life.

            “And what is this Miss Morton to us?” She stood and let burst through her lips, agitated. “It is Elinor’s work we see before us.” She praised her sister ardently until her will drained out of her, leaving only sadness. She then sat beside her sister and whispered in her ear “Do not let them ruin _your_ happiness,” before she broke down in tears, sobbing while she hid her face against Elinor’s shoulder.

            Colonel Brandon was on his feet and walking to her immediately, not caring what anyone may think. His heart only wanted her smiling again. If only he could make her, as he had minutes ago.

            He knelt before her, wishing to hold her and kiss her forehead, but her sister was already trying to comfort her. It was what was proper. All he could do was offer her his handkerchief.

            She took it, still sobbing, and as she did, she lightly squeezed his fingers in gratitude. It was enough to make his heart flutter.


	5. Chapter 5

Colonel Brandon continued to call on Mrs. Jennings and the Dashwoods daily, his plans of going back to Delaford completely forgotten, for the time being.  He received word from Eliza every other day and she and her baby were well cared for, leaving no reason for Colonel Brandon to worry.

            For at least three days following the ordeal at the Dashwood residence, Miss Marianne was nowhere to be seen when Colonel Brandon called. He worried, as was his nature, and lamented the fact that Miss Marianne had seemed improved, but now had gone back to the complete sorrow that seemed to reign her heart, making it impossible for her to even come out of her chambers.

            His chief concern was for her well-being and health; her happiness, which his heart wished for so fervently; but deep in his heart was also the worry that she would never recover fully from this, and he would never have the opportunity to try and win her affections. Romantic spirit as she was, it was very likely she would perish as his sweet Eliza. He shuddered at that horrible thought.

            On the fourth day, despair already taking over in his chest, Colonel Brandon entered the drawing room at Mrs. Jennings’ home to see Miss Dashwood speaking to her hostess, and Marianne sitting at the pianoforte, though she did not play. She looked slim and sallow, more so than she had before, but his heart thumped in joy just to see her.

            Miss Dashwood looked very concerned, saddened, and unlike herself. She had been concerned for her sister from the start. However, never had she seemed so distressed as today. Today, of all days! In which Marianne had at least left the room. Colonel Brandon did not understand.

            He addressed Miss Dashwood and Mrs. Jennings and as they exchanged pleasantries, he observed as Miss Marianne sat at the pianoforte, looking discouragingly out the window, not playing a single note. He recalled that he had been able to make her smile at her brother’s home, and his heart swelled in the hope he would be able to repeat the feat. He excused himself from the other ladies and proceeded to his intended objective.

            “Miss Marianne,” he said as he leaned on the bentside of the instrument, facing her.

            His words pulled her from her thoughts and she looked at him, startled for a moment, before softening her features. “Colonel Brandon,” she nodded once.

            “How are you this day?” He asked, his heart suddenly insecure that she would wish such an intrusion, and from him of all people. Perhaps her compassion and slightly more open demeanor towards him had regressed, along with her other improvements.

            She looked out the windows again and he though she was set on ignoring him, but she quickly looked back again. “ ‘Tis a lovely day today,” she smiled feebly.

            “Yes,” he almost sighed it in relief of not being an object of annoyance. “One that inspires music, I see.” He let a small smile assault his graveness.

            “It does not seem to be the case, no. I… tried to practice, but I cannot seem to keep focus. And Mrs. Jennings’ music collection is rather small. It seems her daughter took the better part of it with her, and she has not had the chance or motives to replace them.”

            “Perhaps then play something you know by heart?”

            “I do not think… I cannot recall anything now.”

            “Do you take requests, Miss Marianne?” He suggested a song he very much enjoyed. Eliza used to play it. He missed hearing it, as he himself never managed to perfect that particular song. Perhaps due to the memories attached to it. He hoped to create now new memories that would come to mind with it.

            “That is indeed a lovely song! I do not know if I can recall it. I would not wish to not do it justice. You would have no enjoyment in hearing it.” It happened to be her father’s favorite as well.

            “I thoroughly enjoy hearing you play this instrument, Miss Marianne. You are extremely talented, and I believe you would do any song much justice, even in the worst of circumstances. I have… missed hearing you.” He smiled timidly, afraid he was being too bold.

            As Marianne blushed – something so noticeable now with her sallow complexion – and thought of something to say, Mrs. Jennings called the Colonel back to them. He nodded once to Marianne, tenderly, and tapped a finger to the pianoforte’s rim before turning to go to Mrs. Jennings.

            The older woman babbled something away and Colonel Brandon tried to follow, but beneath her voice he heard the first notes of the song he had requested being played. A jolt of excitement ran though him, but the music soon stopped. After a few moments, the notes began again, more firmly, and this time they carried on, the song he liked being beautifully played. His heart filled with joy. As soon as he could look away from Mrs. Jennings, he looked at the instrument and smiled shyly, and received a small smile from the player in return.

                       

****

 

            There was an assembly to take place a few days later, organized by an acquaintance of both Mrs. Jennings’ and Colonel Brandon’s, so they were, naturally, both invited. Mrs. Jennings wished to take her charges, but Marianne was very reluctant to go. It would not be as big as the last assembly she had attended, but many of the same people would be there nonetheless. She felt ashamed of showing her face in such a place. Whoever was not attending the last assembly to witness her shame would certainly have heard of it from others. But Elinor pleaded to her that it would be rude to Mrs. Jennings, who had been so generous towards them, not to go. Marianne then relented, aware that it would be a sacrifice to her sister as well.

            While getting dressed, Marianne found yet another reason to be embarrassed. As she looked at herself in the looking glass, she remembered the harsh words that had come out in a whisper from Miss Grey’s – Mrs. Willoughby’s – lips. She had looked at her in disgust, criticizing her dress as being “country fashion” and not pretty enough for the occasion. Unfortunately, country fashion is all she had. And so it would be yet another topic for her to be talked about, along with her apparently fading looks her brother had brought to her attention.

            At the assembly, she kept to herself and was polite when introduced to someone and whenever else required. She didn’t wish to be there at all, but tried to look well. She didn’t want to be yet another cause of worry to her sister, who had been carrying such a heavy burden herself for so long, though only recently did Marianne learn of it. The only thing that set Marianne’s mind at ease was that neither Willoughby nor his wife would be there, she was certain. But Elinor had the danger of running into a Ferrars. Their own sister in law, who was unavoidable, could be a source of pain.

            After a very short while of turning about the room with Mrs. Jennings and her sister, Marianne found a chair on which to sit, away from all and yet, with a view of the dance floor. Something to distract her mind.

            Colonel Brandon watched her, and hoped he could make her feel at least more comfortable somehow. She certainly would not wish to dance with _him_ , but if he sat by her, would he burden her further? Or would it bring some form of relief?

            He walked to her, and as he approached, she looked up at him. She did not look vexed by his presence. A good sign.

            “Miss Marianne.”

            “Colonel,” she smiled briefly.

            “Forgive me for intruding…”

            “It is no intrusion, Colonel. I am simply watching the dance.” No one would ask her to dance, anyway, she thought, and even if they did, she was not sure she would accept. What she really wished was to dance with someone who would no longer dance with her.

            “If I may say so, you look radiant this evening, Miss Marianne. That is… a lovely dress.” It was a compliment from the heart.

            She was a bit taken aback by his compliment. A man who she not long ago thought so insipid speaking more freely… but of course, he had reason to be guarded, she remembered. And felt ashamed of all she had said of him. And she knew she did not look her best nor was her dress pretty. He was surely just trying to cheer her, such a good friend he was. More shame she felt for having thought so ill of him.

            “Oh… you are too kind, Colonel. This… this isn’t even a new dress…” she was blushing.

            “Then perhaps it is your beauty that makes it shine as if it were.” He smiled as he sat beside her as she still blushed at his words. “Forgive me if I upset you.”

            “No, not at all. Thank you.” It was always nice to receive a compliment.

            They engaged in conversation, Colonel Brandon always aiming to make her smile, Marianne happy to have a distraction. After a few minutes, Mrs. Jennings came along, chuckling.

            “Colonel, why don’t you ask Miss Marianne to dance? She is the only young lady not on the floor. I declare she must be so very frustrated with your not asking!”

            Colonel Brandon lamented Mrs. Jennings meddling. The conversation was moving along so nicely, she had surely hindered his progress now with her insinuations. As she had before, he remembered well.

            “I am sure Miss Marianne has no interest in dancing with myself, though I may indeed be hurting her chances of a young gentleman asking her by sitting here and monopolizing her company,” he tried.

            Marianne surprised herself by realizing she did not mind the Colonel’s company at all. And though he seemed as if he were too old to be a good dancer, a few stomped toes would be tolerable to be polite to a good friend. She would, in addition, be able to dance, since no one else was likely to ask her. And being seen dancing could ease her sister’s mind a bit, perhaps. Marianne saw she watched as she conversed from across the room.

            “A dance, I feel, would be a very nice distraction. If only someone had the urge to ask,” she smiled.

            Colonel Brandon, pleasantly surprised by her words, stood before her and offered his hand as Mrs. Jennings watched, excitement evident on her features.

            “Miss Marianne, would you grant me the pleasure of a dance?”

            She graciously accepted.

            Marianne was astonished with the fact he could indeed dance, and very well. She was actually having fun as they moved along the line, and forgot all her worries. She smiled.

            “Your smile lights up the room, Miss Marianne. I hope to see it more often from now on,” he said as his chest filled with joy at the fact that once again, he managed to bring her some relief.


	6. Chapter 6

            Over the next few days, Colonel Brandon learned of a Mr. Edward Ferrars’ situation in life, now very underprivileged due to simply keeping a promise and pursuing love, doing what he felt was right in his heart. Due to the similarities to his past hardships, Colonel Brandon took compassion and offered the recently vacated parsonage at Delaford. He had only just gotten word of it. He charged Miss Dashwood with telling him, knowing he was a friend of the family, something that only added to his impression that Mr. Ferrars was different from other people by the last name Ferrars that Colonel Brandon had the displeasure of meeting.

            The Colonel thought it would take longer, but Miss Dashwood – though she seemed displeased with the prospect and Colonel Brandon understood not why – gave  word immediately, and Mr. Ferrars sought him out to very shyly thank him. This made the need to be back at Delaford more pressing. He had to see to the parsonage, prepare it for its new inhabitants, and he had to see to Eliza and her baby. But he so wished to be close to Miss Marianne, especially since she seemed improved and it seemed he had actually been able to help her achieve that minor improvement, though he played a very little part. Could he dare hope?

            It was in this slight agitation of mind, not knowing what to do, torn between heart and sense, that he once again indulged in his heart’s desire to see Miss Marianne’s angelic face, see how she did, and so he went to call. But she was nowhere to be seen.

            Miss Dashwood revealed to him that they were hoping to leave very soon, though it broke her heart to display such rudeness towards Mrs. Jennings.  It was true that Miss Marianne was improved and at least now ate, albeit very little, but Miss Dashwood felt that the country air and their mother’s comfort was what she needed. They had arranged to go to Cleveland with the Palmers and their baby, but had no way of making the last day of travel to Barton. Colonel Brandon offered to accompany them without hesitation, his only wish being to bring relief and happiness to his love somehow, even if he could not hold her and comfort her himself.

            And so off they went. Charlotte, Mr. Palmer, and the Dashwood sisters in the carriage as Colonel Brandon accompanied on horseback. Charlotte, talkative as she was and not having seen much of the Dashwood sisters since the ball and all the events that ensued, could not refrain from talking of Mr. Willoughby, and how very ill he used them all, and how she wished his home were not so close to Cleveland, for if she never saw him again it would still be too soon. This talk only brought back all the sorrow and despair Marianne had managed to keep slightly in check, and by the time they arrived at Cleveland, she was as catatonic as on the day she learned of the whole truth. She needed a walk, she needed to be away from Charlotte Palmer for a while, so she wandered into the gardens.

 

            Rain began to violently fall over Cleveland and its Park and Miss Marianne had not returned from her walk, nor could she be seen anywhere in the vicinity of the Manor. Colonel Brandon, of course, took it upon himself to go out looking for her. He could not sit idly as worry consumed his heart.

            He walked to the hothouse, to the stables, hoping she had taken shelter in one of these places, desperately calling her name. Being so bold as to use her Christian name, something so intimate. But she was not to be found in such places. He did not want to admit it, he did not wish it to be true for he hoped against all odds that the scoundrel had had his influence on her heart reduced, that he had been banished from her mind, that she did not care as much as she once had, but it was inevitable. He would certainly find her at Combe Magna or its surroundings. She still loved him and would risk her life due to a broken heart. Colonel Brandon had no chance, nor would he ever.

            He took hurried steps in the pouring rain, his hair soaking wet, his clothes clinging to his body. He did not care. He would walk through hell to fetch her back to safety. He walked, he ran, for a long while before he found her collapsed on a hill which overlooked Combe Magna.

            He threw himself to the ground beside her, despair consuming him. As he knelt beside her, he tried to revive her.

            “Marianne. Marianne!” He called in angst as he took her by the shoulders and shook her. “Marianne!” He touched her cheek, and still she did not recover consciousness.

            Tears began to fall down his cheeks, mixing with the raindrops that dripped from his hair and the sky.

            “Marianne, please!” He touched his forehead to hers and caressed her cheeks. But his love was not enough to wake her. She did not want his love. His feeble attempts of bringing joy and healing to her heart were not enough, and now here she lay. But he could not lose love again to death. He would not.

            He took her in his arms, cradling her, and carried her the long way back to Cleveland, not feeling the weight, the exertion, the strain. He only felt despair, sorrow that he had not gotten to her, won a piece of her heart. He could not bear to think she suffered so much. If only he could soothe her somehow. Here, in his arms, hearing his heart beat so strongly for her. If only it could make her better somehow… Tears continued to flow and clouded his eyes.

            He arrived at Cleveland, drenched, and hurried to the dry warmth of the entrance hall. It was there that the adrenaline left his body and the other emotions overwhelmed him. He dropped to his knees still holding her, and wasn’t aware of what was said or what he said in reply as they took her from his arms, leaving him to feel only emptiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but I will try to post the next one sooner.


	7. Chapter 7

            Colonel Brandon sat in his warm bath not knowing or remembering exactly how he came to be there. He felt absolutely numb, empty. He relived the dreadful sight of such a warm and angelical creature being found cold and collapsed in the rain. The delightful pink blush that colored her cheeks and gave her life was faded, giving room to a sallow, pale complexion that rivaled a corpse’s. Her eyes, such brightness, such life, closed. Her full pink lips he had longed to kiss, had wished were his several times, purple as if decayed.

            Despair suddenly filled his being. He must see her; he must make sure she would be well. He rose from the water and took a towel to dry himself. He dressed as quickly as he could and left his rooms with his voluminous hair still damp from his bath.

            He noticed a maid entering Miss Marianne’s room with a basin of warm water as he passed that wing of the house, and he lamented the fact that propriety did not allow for him to knock on her door and ask for information on her well-being. Lingering and waiting for the maid to ask for information from her would be frowned upon as well. So he descended in the hopes of finding one of the Palmers or even Miss Dashwood to provide him with what his heart demanded to know. Alas, he could only find Mr. Palmer in the billiard room, who was quick to invite him for a game. Apparently it was much later than Colonel Brandon had thought, him having forgone supper without even realizing. Mrs. Palmer then saw to the baby as Miss Dashwood saw to her sister, leaving the men with each other’s company.

            Colonel Brandon was quiet, solemn, and could not concentrate on the game for the life of him. He could not shake the concern that overtook him, nor the feeling that Miss Marianne was in a much graver state than any of the others had allowed themselves to believe.

            But what most pained his heart was the feeling of failure. He had thought he had been some small source of comfort and relief to her during the past few weeks. They had talked, she had seemed more open. He had made her smile, the most beautiful of smiles. He had dared to believe he was slowly evicting that coxcomb from her heart and mind. He had dared to hope that in time he could do it completely, and that she would fill that void with him, love him, even if it was half as much as he loved her, as she had loved the cad. But there she had been, lying on a hill overlooking his estate, certainly thinking of what might have been, then succumbing to her broken heart. Perhaps making her forget Willoughby could never be done. He certainly could understand how she felt, having felt much of the same when he lost Eliza not once, but twice. If it could be done - banishing Willoughby from her heart that is – it certainly could not be done by a foolish and dull old man such as himself.

            Colonel Brandon’s quiet turmoil did not go unnoticed by Mr. Palmer.

            “A warm bath and a good night’s sleep will do her a world of good, Brandon, you’ll see. She will be good as new on the morrow.”

            But it wasn’t so. The early hours of the morning brought a doctor to see her.

            Colonel Brandon had stayed in the billiard room with Palmer a while longer before both retired. Colonel Brandon changed and went to bed, in vain. All he did was roll around, not able to sleep, his thoughts and worries plaguing him. He stared intently at the ceiling of his mostly dark room, only dimly lit by the light that begun to timidly appear in the dawning skies when the rustle of horses on the sweep outside made him spring up from bed and go to the window. He observed as the doctor stepped out of the carriage and was escorted into the house. He got dressed at once.

            It was much worse than they all imagined. An infectious fever that drove the Palmers away from their home, for the safety of their child. But Colonel Brandon, who was now justified in his gloom, would stay. Not a team of wild horses nor a battalion with attack orders could turn him away from his beloved Marianne, from offering her anything that was in his power to ease her suffering. He would be wretched if he were away from her, with no news, as he was of no significance to her or her family and no news would be sent to him. He cared nothing of his health, for he would most likely die anyway were he not to see her sweet, beautiful face ever again.

            He was wretched staying there as well. He couldn’t be allowed in to see her when all he wished to do was just that. The doctor came and went and the news were much of the same, no change for the better, and his heart, tight in his chest, only wished to hold her close to him, like he had the day before, carrying her as his heart thudded in his chest not only due to exertion and despair, but due to the intense love he felt for her, and the wish to hold her under different circumstances. If only she could know, could feel all the love there was in him for her… his despair. She could not die without knowing. He would not be able to carry that secret locked in his chest. He would not bear it.

            The doctor came and went again, and the news was more somber. They were to prepare for the worst. Would he have to live through life without ever seeing her smile again? Never knowing how it felt to have her hand in his for more than a dance or to aid her from a carriage? Never knowing how sweet her lips tasted? Those things he would never know even if she lived. But if she lived, his heart would be content with the eternal hope of one day knowing. If she lived, his heart would be content with the knowledge that she still drew breath, that her smile would still illuminate some corner of the world where she sat.

            He wished to do something, anything. Fetch the water, change the sheets. He restrained himself from bursting into the sickroom to see her face, perhaps for the last time. He stood next to her door, suffering immensely, disheveled yet not caring about it, when her sister exited the room.

            “What can I do?” He asked, his back to the wall, his eyes filled with despair. This would certainly make her sister privy to his feelings, but he did not care.

            “Colonel, you have done so much already.”

            “Give me an occupation, Miss Dashwood, or I shall run mad.” He tried to hold back his utter despair.

            “She would be easier if her mother were here,” Miss Dashwood suggested.

            Of course. Why had he not thought of it sooner? Her mother should be there. He would fetch her at once. The stable hand barely had time to ready his horse before he rode off into the sunset.

 

            Elinor sat beside her sister, worried to death. Marianne was still unconscious, though her fever seemed to have broken a bit. She begged her not to leave her alone in this world. Elinor then remembered the Colonel and how wretched he seemed. He really did truly love her sister. The pain he must feel. How he had suffered in his life! Still he gave his heart again, so wholly. Who else would ride all night to fetch her mother but a man in love? It was then Elinor allowed Marianne to leave her, but only in one circumstance: that of going to Delaford to be its mistress, in full health.

            “He could make you so terribly happy, Marianne, if only you allowed him in,” she said, talking to her sister as if she were awake, missing the sound of her voice replying stubbornly.

            A servant knocked an entered, warning there was someone there to see her. Elinor followed the servant not knowing who it could be. The doctor was expected back at any moment, but he would not be announced like this. She entered the drawing room to find Willoughby standing there, wet as could be due to the storm that raged outside.

 

****

 

            Colonel Brandon made good time and arrived at Barton Cottage at a reasonable hour. He hurriedly gave explanations to Mrs. Dashwood, who was under the impression from the letter received a few days past, that her daughter suffered only from a common cold and the already known broken heart. She took the news with shock and surprise, but wasted no time in sending Margaret to Barton Park to be looked after. She went under protest. Mrs. Dashwood was kind enough to offer the Colonel something to eat, perhaps a cup of tea, but he politely refused, saying there was no time to be wasted on their journey back.

            They rode in Sir John’s carriage, quietly at first. He drowned in his concern and sorrow and was not able to express much of anything, only to look out the window at the darkened landscape. Mrs. Dashwood had her concerns as well and suffered quietly until she decided to voice them.

            “You have seen her, Colonel. What is your opinion?” She asked earnestly.

            He was startled from his thoughts and turned to her. “I… I cannot say. I have not been allowed in the room, naturally,” he said feebly. His eyes were full of sorrow.

            “But you have heard the doctor’s reports, surely. And talked to Elinor? How bad is it, Colonel? Be frank, please. I cannot endure this, not knowing throughout all this ride. I trust your judgment and opinion. Do you think… will she die? Am I riding to meet possibly a dead child already?”

            These words moved Colonel Brandon and he could no longer conceal his despair.

            “Oh God! I hope not!” He exclaimed not in his usually contained and gentlemanly manner. His eyes, however, swam in contained tears.

            “Oh, dear Colonel! You love her, and fear for her as much as I do!”

            “I… I do not… Forgive me,” he tried to compose himself as he realized what he had done.

            “You do not need to hide such feelings from me, Colonel. Is it true? You do love her, do you not?”

            “With all my heart,” he said quietly after sighing. “Forgive me for such forwardness. I know I am much too old and the idea certainly does not please you Mrs. Dashwood…”

            “Nonsense. I am convinced no one in this world is better suited for her, or would make her happier. Should… should she survive, you have my blessing to court her, Colonel.”

            He gave a shy and feeble smile though sorrow still filled his eyes. “I thank you, Mrs. Dashwood, but she would… never have me. It is pointless to try and win her heart.”

            “I believe, Colonel, you could be as pleasantly surprised as she,” she smiled. “Marianne is a bit stubborn, but she will recognize and appreciate all your qualities. And certainly her romantic streak will not let all you’ve done for her go unnoticed.”

 

***

 

            Marianne opened her eyes. Her whole body ached and no one was anywhere to be found in the room she lay in. She observed it with much difficulty, for the candlelight hurt her eyes. She was thirsty. She needed comfort. Information. What had happened? She was a bit hungry as well. And sweaty.

            “Elinor?” She tried calling, but only a hoarse croak escaped her. She very slowly sat up, feeling wretched. “Elinor?” She tried again, but her voice still did not carry. She managed to stand, slowly, her head pounding as it had never before. She dragged herself through the room, holding on to bed posts, furniture, walls, and made it to the door. She opened it and made it a little further out to the hall, to a bannister that overlooked the foyer of Cleveland Manor. There she slid to the floor to rest. Someone was sure to notice her there.

            She remembered why she felt so wretched. She had been in the rain, crying over Willoughby. She had almost killed herself because of him. And where was he? Married. To another woman. Not a thought spared for her. It did not seem fair. It did not seem worth it. He was not worth all the discomfort she felt at that moment. And the pain she must have caused to her family! It was so very foolish of her.

            It was amidst these thoughts and wondering of everyone’s whereabouts that she heard a voice coming from a room bellow. At first she thought she might be having some sort of hallucination. She was too weak to have come all this way. She could not go back on her own. Perhaps she still ran a mild fever. But it was. It was. Willoughby’s voice. He made excuses for himself. To whom, she did not know. He spoke of his misery in his marriage, and of his lack of choice but to go through with it. He claimed to love Marianne.

            Such words would have warmed her heart a few days past, would have caused her to leap up and to him, throw herself into his arms. Perhaps even suggest they elope. But now, amidst her strong physical suffering, she felt disgusted. Disgusted he seemed only to care about explaining himself and victimizing himself for circumstances he lived only due to his own cruel actions and choices. This man could not warrant her suffering. No. It must stop. She had her eyes closed against the light that bothered her, her head leaned on the banister, seeking relief from its throbbing, when she heard the front door shut closed. He had left.

            “My goodness, Marianne!” Was the next thing she heard coming from bellow, and her sister’s voice soothed her.

            Elinor hurried up the stairs to fetch her and a maid followed after hearing her cries.

            “What are you doing out of bed, dearest?” Her heart beat simultaneously in concern and relief Marianne was at least awake.

            “Look… looking for you,” Marianne managed to say as the two other women helped her to stand.       

            “How long have you been out here?” Elinor now worried her sister might have heard Willoughby and created expectations that would further deteriorate her health. Though Elinor felt for him in his apparent wretchedness, there was nothing that could be done. Marianne had to know that to be true.

            “Not but a minute,” Marianne replied.  It was best if Willoughby was put completely from her mind, effective immediately.

            They took her to lie down once again.

            “Where… is everyone?” Marianne asked as she was made comfortable.

            “Oh dearest, you cannot even begin to know how wonderfully pleased I am that you are awake!” Elinor turned to the maid and asked to see if a note could be sent, if anything could be done to speed up the doctor’s visit. The servant left. “Your condition is… quite serious, dearest. The Palmers were forced to leave, to see to the health of their baby.”

            Of course. Only her sister would be forced to stay and watch over her. And her mother. Family. She should care for her family more, from now on.

            “And Mama? Did she not come?” What was she asking? It would be quite hard to leave everything, Margaret, and come on her own.

            “Colonel Brandon went to fetch her. They should be back soon.”

            “Colonel Brandon… stayed?” Would he risk his health as such? Was he this kind a friend?

            “Yes. He has been here from the start. Quite eager to be of use, though. So he left to fetch Mama this evening.”

            Marianne’s heart filled with warmth. Who would be so kind as to do such a thing? She then remembered how kind he had always been, especially in London, the past few weeks. And all he had endured at the hands of Willoughby as well. A true friend, speaking out at her brother’s house, in her defense and her sister’s. Flashes of his wet, worried countenance hovering over her, the grey skies above, with clouds pregnant with rain that burst atop their heads came to her. She was confused.

            “Did he… was he the one who found me?” She asked, still in a low and tired voice.

            “Yes, dearest,” Elinor smiled, hoping her heart was finally opening to him. “He carried you from a hill a few miles off all the way here, in the rain, most valiantly.”

            “Oh. How… how very kind of him. Kind. Very kind. To fetch Mama as well,” she said thoughtfully. Something overwhelmed her feeble heart, seeming to squeeze it. She dismissed it as only abashment, for having acted like such a foolish child, forcing him to rescue her in the first place. Whatever must he think of her?

            “Yes, indeed. He is a great friend to have. Now rest, dearest. The doctor and Mama will be here soon.”

            Marianne fell back into a slumber.

 

            The doctor gave a good prognosis. She had improved immensely and was out of danger. It was not so long after that horses could be heard on the sweep and Elinor hurried to the door.

            “Mama! Mama! She is out of danger.” Elinor said this as much to her mother as to Colonel Brandon, who followed, though she could not speak it plainly to him without making him embarrassed, to have her know a piece of his heart without his consent.

            Mrs. Dashwood followed her daughter to the room, and Colonel Brandon followed them in turn, without thought, his heart light with relief. He had to see to make sure, even if briefly.

            He stopped at the door as Mrs. Dashwood hurried to embrace her daughter. She looked weak, of course, but was awake at least. He sighed in relief and restrained himself from stepping inside and hurrying to embrace her as well. He was pulling the door closed, to give the family their privacy as he heard a voice sweeter than the songs of angels calling to him.

            “Colonel Brandon?”

            He stopped immediately and looked up at her, astonished.

            “Thank you.”

            He managed to nod once as his heart seemed to be too constricted in his rib cage to beat properly.


	8. Chapter 8

            Colonel Brandon slept easier that night, though it was still not ideal. Miss Marianne was out of danger, but she still ran a fever. In addition to his worry for her health and well-being, excitement stirred his thoughts and bothered his sleep.

            She had, so sweetly, thanked him. But he must not allow that to be cause for hope. She could never love him, he was foolish to hope otherwise. Foolish to think he had, in the weeks spent in London, brought her some form of joy. She still pined for Willoughby. Her love for him was so profound it saw not his faults, his abundant faults, and would not allow her to see merit in a man who truly loved her. Especially not an older, dull man such as himself. Her love of Willoughby was so profound it caused her to, even if momentarily, lose the will to live, going out into the rain and bringing such illness upon her already debilitated body, made weak by sorrow. He could not blame her.

            He had felt the same sort of desperation while thinking what would become of her, so fragile and ill. Helpless. Had he been of a weaker mind, he would certainly have attempted something rash. Had the illness taken her, he knew not what he would have done. There was no woman in this world that could take his heart away from Marianne Dashwood, so it would have perished with her. It therefore must be the case that he could not take her heart away from Willoughby, though a blaggard he was and she knew it.

            Her temperature, though mild, persisted for three days more, and for three days he sat in angst in the library, reading no more than a paragraph of the book he had picked out, or of the papers and news the day carried to them.

            On the fourth day, Miss Marianne was strong enough to be seated in the dressing room and receive visitors other than he mother and sister, who cared for her through her illness. Colonel Brandon was called up to see her, though he was sure it was only politeness. She must not really wish to see him, not particularly. Perhaps she only wished to see different faces than those of her family and of the maid and doctor, who were constantly in her rooms. Colonel Brandon’s was the only different face available. So she would put up with him.

            Upon arrival, he witnessed her mother and sister arranging her on a chair, since the door was half-open. She still looked very feeble. The color that had brightened her cheeks so often had faded and she was slimmer than it pleased him to see. She had back tracked to those first days in London, after that ball. Still, his heart beat strong when he laid eyes on her. Even not in full health, she was still the most beautiful creature to walk this Earth, and he would cherish her for always, given the chance.

            He knocked on the open door to make himself seen, and the ladies scurried away from Marianne as she looked up to the door and a slight blush brought such color to her pale cheeks that it could not go unnoticed. She blushed because she was ashamed of being seen as such. So ill and weak, no color to her cheeks, her lips dried and cracked, her hair in a simple braid as if she were to retire for the evening. Oddly, she thought she would not mind nearly as much if it were anyone else seeing her.

            “Colonel Brandon,” she smiled shyly. “You will excuse the state I am in? I do not look very appropriate, but there is not much to be done at the moment.”

            He held his hands behind his back and let out a small, polite smile. “You need not worry yourself, Miss Marianne.” _You are beautiful in every which way_ is what he wished to say but didn’t, as he looked around the room discretely, seeing Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood trying to look busy with this or that.

            “I should go fetch more water for the basin, and Elinor, will you find someone that can change the linens while Marianne is not in bed?”

            “Certainly, Mama.”

            “Excuse us, Colonel,” Mrs. Dashwood said as she followed Elinor out of the room. The Colonel just nodded once, grasping her scheme but finding it was pointless.

            “Colonel,” Marianne started, holding her hands in one another, caressing, fidgeting. His attention shifted from the door the ladies had just exited to his beloved Marianne’s sweet blue eyes. “I would like to sincerely thank you. Were it not for you, your kindness, I would likely be dead right now.”

            A chill ran down his spine at such a thought.

            “And you stayed behind to aid Elinor, when you needed not put your health at risk nor delay your affairs, for you are surely a busy man. I am nothing to you.”

            _You are everything to me._ But he just smiled politely and shyly.

            “Thank you also for fetching Mama. You are a most generous friend. I do not know how I can ever repay you.”

            “Your further recovery and remaining in good health will be payment enough,” he replied.

            She blushed again, though not as brightly as she would in health. It was yet another reason to be ashamed. Her foolishness, causing herself to come so near death for a man that did not deserve it one bit. He would probably not even mourn her. He would be alive and live his chosen life, enjoy the excess he would. And she would be dead, unable to better her existence and make something meaningful of it. Willoughby would not bat an eye, but she would bring grief to her mother and sisters. It was not worth it, at all. Juliet, Guinevere, dying for love… it was all not a romantic notion after all.

            “As to that you need not worry, Colonel,” she found the strength to say. “I believe I have learned from my mistakes and the… foolishness that led to these actions will no longer have power over me. I am determined to dedicate myself to furthering my studies… when I am able to read without it hurting my eyes, that is. And helping Mama. There will be no more time for foolish and irresponsible decisions.” She smiled as best she could.

            Willoughby could be chased out of her heart after all, it seemed. But that did not entail he could be replaced. By the likes of Colonel Brandon. No, no. He would only be forced into a dark corner of her mind by focusing on other matters. Colonel Brandon’s cause was hopeless nonetheless. Yet, it was better to have her closer to her normal self – though he would not properly have her as he would like – than being a shadow of what she once was due to an undeserving cad.

            “That… is a noble purpose, Miss Marianne. I will of course help however you should wish me to.”

            “That is very kind of you to say, Colonel. I did wonder if it would be at all possible to abuse your good will and… borrow some books, occasionally? The library at Barton Park is not so very large, and I imagine you must have some books that could add to what I will find there. If it is no trouble, of course. Please do not feel you must indulge me because of my state. Feel free to say no at any rate.”

            “It would be no abuse at all. I will gladly provide whatever you may need.” He showed a shy smile. He did not think he would ever be able to say no to such sweet eyes and smile.

            Her mother returned to the room.

            “I should leave you to your rest, Miss Marianne.” He bowed and turned to leave, his heart soothed that some progress was made towards her total well-being. It did not hurt him that a connection was made as well, a topic he could use to strike up conversation with her in the near future.

 

***

 

            Marianne Dashwood sat in the carriage, heading back home to Barton. It had taken her a few more days to be well enough to make the journey and bear the ride, but still the movement of the carriage made her queasy. She sat with her back to the coachman, her mother and sister opposite her to give her a minimal amount of space and therefore comfort. The curtains were drawn shut because the sunlight hurt her eyes. But she could see Colonel Brandon on horseback, riding next to the carriage through a sliver that remained open.

            He looked so elegant on his horse, she reluctantly admitted to herself. As a gallant knight, protecting her. And her family. He was a very good friend. Putting his affairs on hold to tend to the Dashwood’s needs.

            He trotted along, looking forward, his full blond hair slightly disheveled under his hat by the gentle breeze. It gave him a charming air. When they went through wooded areas, or passed under a shade, she pulled the curtains open slightly, to get a better look at him. She did it shyly at first, but once she saw his look never wavered towards her, she didn’t much mind and wasn’t as careful. She could very well be looking at the landscape as long as he was concerned.

            She did not know it but Colonel Brandon did notice she looked outside from time to time. He dare not think it was due to him, but his heart thudded in his chest every time she did nonetheless.

            Her mother and sister conversed and tried to include her, but she rarely listened to what was being said, so absorbed she was by the view.

            “Marianne, is something the matter?” Elinor asked, perceiving what began to unravel before her very eyes.

            “No. Nothing.”

            “Does Colonel Brandon do something to invoke a nasty comment from you?” Elinor tried to say in jest.

            “Elinor!” Mrs. Dashwood scolded.

            “It’s quite all right, Mama, I do deserve that. Actually, he looks quite elegant and charming when riding is all I notice.”

            Mrs. Dashwood and Elinor exchanged surprised looks.

            “I believe I misjudged the Colonel.” Marianne started after a moment of silence.

            “Oh?” Elinor asked as Mrs. Dashwood smiled.

            “I used to think of him as dull and unfeeling, I am ashamed to say. But he has shown to be a very good friend to us. And he seems to be a true romantic. Loving a woman even after she had fallen in disgrace, taking her daughter by an unknown man… never loving again after her death.”

            Mrs. Dashwood smiled to herself, knowing that bit to be a wrong assessment. Elinor did so as well.

            Not to mention the fact that he had so gallantly and bravely rescued Marianne from the rain, carried her for miles and miles into safety. Those were the makings of a true romantic hero. But she must not fool herself down that path again. He certainly only did it for friendship and worry for her well-being as he would have for any other person, with the gentle heart he seemed to carry in his chest. She needed to focus on her studies and nothing more, to not shame herself in his eyes more than she had already. In the world’s eyes. This was a treacherous road to travel. She looked to her mother and sister, tearing herself from the window for the first time during the ride.

“And not chastising said daughter as she repeated her mother’s history seems to me to be the workings of a generous, kind, and truly feeling heart.”

“Yes, I believe he is a very noble man.” Mrs. Dashwood smiled, then looked at Elinor knowingly as Marianne peeked out the window once again.

“The kindest and best of men,” said Elinor.

“We are lucky he considers us friends, then,” Marianne said her eyes unwavering from the window.

“Indeed. I hope he shall remain our friend for a long time to come,” Mrs. Dashwood smiled at Elinor, and she smiled back.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been nearly a fortnight since he had accompanied the Dashwoods home. He stayed at Barton only until the next morning before riding to Delaford, and as soon as he arrived, he wished to be at Barton again, to see Miss Marianne’s angelic face, to gaze into her eyes, even if just briefly.

            He busied himself with his chores at Delaford, with seeing that Eliza and her son had everything they needed. He indeed had been away for long, nearly two months, after he accompanied Eliza and helped settle her in her cottage, so naturally there was plenty to be done and business to tend to. Unfortunately, it was not enough to keep his mind and heart away from Barton for long.

            Colonel Brandon had a trusted staff, and things had run quite smoothly while he was away. Eliza was doing well, and her son was strong and in health. He visited her every day and took up the task of bringing her supplies, substituting his servants. He walked the village and fields, heard complaints and dealt with all which needed dealing. Still, at the end of a fortnight, he felt Delaford could spare him for a couple of days, and that enough time had passed for him to not seem too eager or imposing when visiting. He could also not turn away for too long, or it might seem discourteous.

            He woke up very early one day to ride off to Barton. He hoped he could be there by luncheon time and that his lack of announcement would not be an inconvenience to John and Mrs. Jennings. They had known each other for so long that such formalities could be done away with.

            Colonel Brandon held such anxiety in his heart of seeing Miss Marianne, knowing if she was well, having her converse with him as they had in more often occasions since London, that he had been to his library the previous night and spent almost two quarters and an hour choosing merely three books to take to her. A means to strike up conversation, should she still have the interest she had shown in Cleveland.

            He arrived at Barton Park in time to sit down for luncheon with Mrs. Jennings and Sir John and was a very welcome addition, as usual. They sat in the drawing room as Sir John and Mrs. Jennings talked in the overly excited way they often did, but the Colonel was not all there, listening. He gazed out the window towards Barton Cottage, though it could not be seen from there, and wondered what Miss Marianne would be doing at this time.

            “Go on then, Brandon.” Sir John’s voice roused him from his state.

            “Forgive me, John. I seem to not have heard what you said last.”

            “You have not heard the entirety of the conversation is more like it, Brandon old man. Go on to the cottage and see her.”

            “John, I…”

            “Do not deny it. I’ve known you for long enough. I know it is what you wish to do. And there is no shame in it. Pretty young lass she is. And now, after all she’s been through… more mature, I dare say, heh? It is your chance to make her notice you. She is ripe for the picking, old friend.” Sir John laughed.

            “I assure you, she would never feel that way about me, John.”

            “I am willing to wager my best pearls she will wake up to your charms soon enough, Colonel,” Mrs. Jennings laughed along with John.

            “Be that as it may… I am only concerned for her health.” He tried to hide his feelings but it was getting harder by the day. Mrs. Jennings and John had always jested, but it had once been easier to brush it off and deny. To keep them guessing.

            “Well, go on then. If you leave now you can have a good long visit before they sit down to sup. And as Miss Marianne is still not strong enough to leave the house, she – they – _they_ will all be glad with a visitor that has not mine or Mama’s tired old faces.” Sir John began to laugh heartedly, and Mrs. Jennings joined in.

            “Right you are. Right you are, John,” the woman added.

            Colonel Brandon excused himself and rushed to his always designated room, to retrieve the books he would take to her.

           

            Marianne Dashwood sat in the parlor, bored out of her mind. Reading hurt her eyes, sewing hurt her eyes, going for too long a walk ached the rest of her body. And she could not go for any walk unaccompanied, for she would most likely fall. Her mother sat outside and watched as Margaret played, tending to the rose beds, and Elinor sat in the dining parlor taking care of the finances.

            Over the past two weeks, Marianne had caught herself many times wishing Colonel Brandon would come to call. She reprimanded herself, thinking she should not delude herself as such ever again and risk losing such a cherished friend. She could not pay notice to Mrs. Jennings jests and insinuations, because that is just what they were, jestful, rude comments. Colonel Brandon most certainly would not feel anything more than friendship for her, especially not since she proved herself to be nothing more than a foolish girl, putting her life at risk for a man who would not suffer half as much for her. A man who only brought suffering to her, and to the Colonel as well.

            But after three days of having such wishes recurrently, she began to think maybe it was not so wrong. She remembered his promise of aiding her in her thirst for knowledge and told herself _that_ is what made her eager for his visit. The thought that he would bring new books for her to read. It was indeed a pleasant thought, since she had already read all of her books, very few they were, only the ones she was able to carry from Barton, saving them from Fanny’s grasp, and Sir John had not so many different from hers.

            But as a fortnight was closing without Colonel Brandon even giving word or asking of her health when he had seemed so worried before, anxiety consumed her. Had she said something to offend? Had something happened to him? She was on the verge of asking Mama to write him.

            Marianne heard her mother and Margaret bid hello to someone outside, and as she heard a gentleman’s voice respond which she seemed to recognize, her heart pounded in her chest.

            Colonel Brandon walked into the room in which she sat, escorted by Mrs. Dashwood, and Marianne could feel the color fill her cheeks, her skin there burning as he set his eyes on her. He observed her, thinking her the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon, as ever, noticing how much her health seemed to be improved and how her color seemed to have come back. She had also put on some of the weight she had lost.

            An involuntary smile reached Marianne’s lips, and Colonel Brandon smiled shyly in return, and bowed.

            “Look who is here to see you, Marianne,” Mrs. Dashwood said merrily, making Marianne blush a darker shade of crimson.

            “I’m sure he is here to see all of us, Mama,” she said, abashed.

            “Miss Marianne,” he greeted, and Marianne stood, straightening out her light yellow dress and curtsying.

            “Colonel Brandon. How lovely to see you.”

            His heart swelled at her words, and it took him a moment to find his voice and wits again.

            “I see you are having a speedy recovery. I am glad for it.”

            “Please, Colonel, take a seat,” Mrs. Dashwood pointed to a chair and sat down on the sofa, beside Marianne, as did Margaret. Elinor came in from the next room to join them. They had tea and conversed, Colonel Brandon sharing what he had been tied up in Delaford doing and the Dashwoods sharing what little had gone on in Barton.

            “I hope that when Miss Marianne is fit to travel again, you can all go visit Delaford.”

            “That would indeed be delightful,” Mrs. Dashwood replied.

            “And… since Miss Marianne cannot yet got to the Delaford library, I brought a piece of the library to you, as promised. For you to further your studies.” He presented her with the books.

            She took them with a small smile. “Oh thank you, Colonel, this is most kind of you.”

            As Marianne inspected the books, read their titles, caressed their leather bounds, Elinor excused herself to go back to balancing the financial book, and Mrs. Dashwood suggested Margaret hurry and finish her game outside before it darkened. Thus, the Colonel and Marianne where left alone in the parlor.

            “I hope that… it is still in your interest to have me lend you such books,” he stated, warily.

            “Of course it is! How fickle do you think me, Colonel?” She smiled.

            “It is not that at all, Miss Marianne, I …”

            “I was only jesting, Colonel. Please forgive me if it was rude of me. I do tend to speak out of term, it is something I cannot seem to control, as much as I wish to.”

            “You may always feel free to be yourself with me, Miss Marianne,” he smiled shyly.

            He had brought three books. One on poetry, one on history, and one on philosophy. She was eager to read them right away, and she found her main motivation was not thirst of knowledge, but to be able to discuss them with him, hear his views on them. He must have read them, if he chose them for her to read.

            “I… I find I still have difficulties in reading. It pains my eyes after a short while. I hope you are not in any hurry to have these back, Colonel.”

            “Not at all. Keep them as long as you wish.” It gave him a reason to come back at least once more.

            “If… you do not have anywhere else you must be, Colonel… I wonder if you could start reading one to me? Alone I would get through only one page per day, I’m afraid. If it is no imposition to you, that is.”

            “You could never impose, Miss Marianne,” he answered with a smile.

            When asked which book she would wish to hear from first, she chose the one on history. He read, from his chair next to the sofa, she listened intently, his rhythm and voice very soothing and nice to follow.

            She was, at one point, looking dreamily out the window as he read of the Age of Discoveries, sailors going out at sea and exploring new lands and their accounts of such new lands.

            “Is everything all right, Miss Marianne?”

            “Oh yes, quite.” She was roused from her state. But he continued to look at her, inquisitively, not finding the words to try and press what it was that troubled her out of her lips. “It is just…” she continued, “these tales of faraway lands… it must be so exciting to go out and see the world. And here I sit, having only been to London and Devonshire in addition to Sussex, where I was born.” She seemed a bit discouraged.

            “It is not… all excitement,” he tried to comfort her. He wished he could _give_ her the world, but he would do what was in his power at that moment to make her smile again.

            “I cannot see how.”

            “The trip, being at sea for so long, is very exhausting, for one thing.”

            “Surely a small price to pay for seeing the world?”

            “Yes. It is a most satisfying experience to know other places and cultures, and I do hope you may come to experience it yourself someday. Though I would not wish upon you the hardships I had.”

            “Such as?” She inquired, intrigued.

            “Such as… almost being mauled by a wild animal, for instance.”

            She gasped. “You were attacked?” She asked with concern and interest. He smiled, pleased that he could cause such a reaction on her.

            “Almost, yes.”

            “How did that come to be, if I may ask?”

            “You may, of course. It was when I was in the East Indies. My regiment set up camp near the jungle. There was a village nearby, but it was mostly just trees and plants, densely thrown together. I patrolled the campsite one day and saw some children from the village heading into the woods. They were quite away from home, and unaccompanied.”

Miss Marianne did not take her eyes off of him, absorbing every single word he uttered. His heart swelled and beat merrily in his chest as he continued. “Though they probably had more experience than I in facing the jungle, I went in after them, for it was dangerous for them to be there nonetheless. I found them with a tiger ready to pounce on them.”

            “And are tigers very large? I’ve never seen what one would be like, compared to say, us humans.” She was riveted.

            “Yes. Very. A male adult, if standing on its hind legs, would be double my height, and weigh around 45 stone.”

            “Goodness! And how did it end? Were the children safe?”

            “Yes. These animals only attack from the rear, so once I ran to face it, it stopped its attack. A warning shot from my pistol served to run it off. And then I escorted the children back to the village.”

            “You ran towards it? That was… so very brave of you, Colonel,” Marianne said with admiration. His heart swelled even more as they remained silently looking at each other.

            “What are you doing?” Margaret ran in asking.

            “Colonel Brandon was just telling me some stories about his time overseas.” Marianne said as she looked away from the Colonel and blushed.

            “Did you tell her about the time you fell from an elephant, Colonel?” Margaret asked, excitedly.

            Colonel Brandon smiled shyly as Marianne looked at him with interest and surprise again.

            “No, it was another story, Captain Margaret.”

            “I want to hear it too!”

            “Perhaps another time. I am expected at the Park for supper, I really should be going.” He looked to Marianne. “Would… it be acceptable if I came to call again tomorrow?”

            “Yes, Certainly Colonel.”

            “Very well. I hope you enjoy the books. Have a pleasant evening, and I will see you on the morrow.” He found Elinor to bid her goodbye before he moved outside to speak to Mrs. Dashwood.

            “How do you know he fell off an elephant, Margaret?” Marianne whispered.

            “He told me. Before he went off to London. He would sit mostly with me and Sir John in the evenings we were all gathered and answer my questions as you were off with Willoughby, and Mama and Elinor played cards with Mrs. Jennings.”

            Margaret ran off outside, to bid the Colonel goodbye again, and left Marianne to ponder how wrong she had been, thinking such a brave and kind man was dull. She also regretted not having been smart as Margaret in keeping him company, instead of wasting her time with the likes of Wiloughby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how things worked back then with regards to Zoos. Was it only for the masses, would Marianne have been? Would they have tigers? I guess I have to do some more research, but let's just agree for this chapter's sake that she at most had only seen a painting in a book of what a tiger might look like.


	10. Chapter 10

            Marianne could not focus on any other matter throughout the rest of the day, nor could she sleep properly during the night. Thoughts of Colonel Brandon filled her mind and left room for nothing else. He was indeed a wonderful man, selfless, brave, kind. Who but a true gentleman could have put their own existence in danger to save children he did not know or had never seen before? Doing such a thing was not even part of his duties. He had also put himself and his health in danger when rescuing her from the rain and staying in that house while she was so terribly ill. So terribly kind and giving he was. She doubted Willoughby would have done such a thing.  He had, in fact, been in said house while she was feverish upstairs, and had not had a word of concern for her. He had only cared to make himself the victim of it all. He wished to be pitied.

            Colonel Brandon’s voice came to her mind and she could not help but smile and be soothed. She had very much enjoyed his reading. Since he had left, she had tried to read more of the book, but she became lightheaded with an ache behind her eyes after half a page. He would be back on the morrow and could read to her then. She found she very much yearned for that, her stomach turning upside down, so excited she was. Marianne had not been this excited about seeing someone since… Willoughby.

            No, this was very dangerous. She absolutely could not feel this way once again. She would make a fool of herself and her family. Though she was much more conscious now about being proper and how important that was, she knew that unfortunately there were things intrinsic to her personality that she could not sometimes control. So she would inevitably make a fool of herself again, especially since a gentleman such as Colonel Brandon could have no interest in her after she had been the talk of London, nor after her foolish displays and rudeness, nor after her illness had drained her beauty. She would have to restrain herself, and prevent herself from deepening this regard she seemed to have developed for him.

           

            Colonel Brandon walked down to the Cottage earlier than he had the previous day, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest despite his mind’s ferocious protests. He wished to spend more time with her, since she had seemed so pleased the previous afternoon, but it was not wise to be hopeful. Her politeness might mean nothing, most likely did not. His heart, however, did not accept such facts quietly.

            He found her in the parlor as on the previous day, but unlike their last encounter, her demeanor was more closed off. Not so much as it had been towards him in general before their time in London, but not as agreeable as it had been gradually since. He sat down to converse once again with the whole family, not much having changed since they last exchanged pleasantries. Once the other Dashwoods had exited the room under the main pretense of having tea made, Colonel Brandon worked up the courage to address Miss Marianne.

            “Have you made progress in the reading, Miss Marianne?”

            “Oh yes, a bit,” she answered curtly.

            “Do you wish me to read to you some more?” He tried.

            “I do not wish to be a nuisance to you, Colonel. I thank you for your kind offer, but I believe I can get through the books myself, in time.” She smiled, a small smile, as to not sound too rude.

            “Of course,” he consented with a small, courteous smile himself, and fell silent. His heart felt as if it were being trampled over, ripped out of his chest, so heavy it felt. She could see the disappointment in his eyes, and it made her heart ache most uncomfortably.

            Her mother came back, Betsy at her heels with the tea. It was properly served and Colonel Brandon took it, trying to control his sorrow, which wished to burst out of him. Mrs. Dashwood noticed the silence, and after looking inquisitively at Marianne, who looked down at her fidgeting hands, she picked up the duty of conversation once again, to which the Colonel courteously responded. Elinor and Margaret were of great aid, the latter even making him smile, as Marianne sat in silence, tormented.

            As soon as he finished his tea, he stood.

            “I am most sorry to have to quit your company.”

            “So soon, Colonel? Are you certain you cannot be persuaded to stay longer? Perhaps to dine with us even?” Mrs. Dashwood smiled and awaited for an answer.

            Colonel Brandon looked at Marianne, his eyes full of sorrow. Marianne blushed terribly as her eyes darted away after a moment of looking into his.

            “No. I would not wish to impose. I just called to see if…” He looked at Marianne briefly once more, “you were all well before I returned to Delaford on the morrow.”

            “A pity you cannot stay, Colonel. It would be no imposition at all.” Mrs. Dashwood insisted.

            “Perhaps some other time.”

            “Will we see you again soon?” Mrs Dashwood asked as she accompanied him to the door with Elinor.

            “Certainly, though how soon I cannot say. I have been a long time away from Delaford and there are still many issues that should be tended to.” He was struggling with the very veiled rejection he had just once again suffered. It affected him more than it should because he had allowed himself to hope. Foolish he was. In some minutes he should be again recomposed, and it would never happen again.

            He bid his goodbyes and turned to walk away from the Cottage. His strides were long and hurried as tears swam in his eyes, his heart aching as if it had been gripped and ripped to pieces.

            Marianne too felt anguished sitting still in the parlor. She very much wished for his company, wished for him to read to her, but felt she should shield herself. She had not meant to be rude, and had hoped he would still stay and converse with all of them longer, but the sorrow-filled look in his eyes told her things did not seem as she had meant them. It all felt very wrong to her, what she had done, and the reminder of his sorrow only pained her chest further. The last thing she wished for was to once again be discourteous to a man who had always been so kind to her, had saved her life, and who she had treated so badly for so long already. What she should be doing was making amends for all her past foolishness.

            She could not take the aching in her heart much longer, and stood, hurrying as much as she could to the door. She meant to call out for him, but he was already too far away to hear and she still had not the health to hurry after him. She therefore rushed upstairs, weeping, and locked herself in her bedroom, from whence nobody could take her, not even to sup.  When Elinor went in to prepare for bed, she could not persuade Marianne to share what troubled her so. Marianne cried quietly still, feeling horrible for how she had acted, and not quite understanding why she felt so strongly for something that could be fixed easily enough. A true friend as Colonel Barandon would surely accept her apologies. But when would she have the opportunity to offer them?

 

            Colonel Brandon thought it best to stay away for a while. Tame his heart to expect nothing beyond friendship and politeness from the creature he loved so dearly. Teach his heart to expect and cope with the possibility of her finding love again and not being disappointed by it, and it not being with him.

            He held strong for another week after he had quitted Barton, early and most upset, not fulfilling the plans of shooting with Sir John. He busied himself with his duties, and spent time with Eliza and her child. The boy was most affectionate, and he held him and sang him to sleep often. It might be – it most likely would be – the only experience with a baby he would ever have, so he would enjoy it.

            But then a letter came. It was from John.

 

            _Brandon,_

_What do you say, old friend, to coming to Barton for a luncheon on Thursday next? Miss Marianne’s health recovers by the hour, and Mrs. Jennings and I thought it merry to have a luncheon here for her first outing in a while. We could take the opportunity of your trip and extend it, to have the shooting we could not last time._

_I should add that while Mama and I do enjoy having you here at any time you might like to come, the thought was of something simple, with just ourselves and the Dashwoods, just to get the girl out of the house. It was she, however, that inquired if you were to join us with rather hopeful eyes, I would say. That piece of information should set your mind easily enough._

_Your open invitation to Barton still stands. Arrive at any time you choose, Brandon, no need for warning._

_John Middleton_

 

 

            John must have misinterpreted Miss Marianne. She most likely asked of him for fear of the encounter and having to endure him, not because she wished him to be there. Still, his heart swelled in his chest as he read, and decided over his wits that he most certainly would make an appearance.

            On the day prior to the one set for the luncheon, Mrs. Jennings and Sir John called on the inhabitants of the Cottage. As everyone merrily discussed the weather, Marianne’s improved appearance and the menu for their meal, the patient sat in the corner, looking at the visitors, anguished, meaning to ask once more if Colonel Brandon would be there, but finding not a proper way or moment to do it without being rude or rousing Mrs. Jennings’ impertinent comments or jokes. She had been trying to read his book all week, but she only got through one page a day, straining her eyes most terribly. And for some reason, reading his book always brought some amount of sorrow to her heart, and made her long to hear whatever story he would have that connected to the history she read.

            “I see you, Miss Marianne. Do not be so impatient. I have invited Brandon, but I do not know with certainty whether he will come, as he has sent no word,” Sir John said to her with his knowing smile as Mrs. Jennings chuckled. Marianne blushed, worried that she was so transparent of her feelings, still, after actively trying not to be as to not cause shame to herself and her family, and worried the pair of them would see this as a confirmation of their insinuations when she only wished to be polite and properly reciprocate Colonel Brandon’s friendship as she should have done from the start.

            “Oh, but I do wager he will come.” Mrs. Jennings said in her overexcited manner. “He has every reason to do so. And he knows he need not send notice to visit us, John.” She chuckled affectedly while looking to Marianne.

            “Very true, Mama, very true.” He chuckled as well.

            Elinor looked to Marianne and noticed her distress, so she shifted the conversation. She had perceived her sister’s change of heart towards the Colonel, but was not sure it was accepted by Marianne herself yet. Teasing her could set them back, and Elinor, as her mother, did not wish for that. Colonel Brandon was an honorable man and had loved Marianne for long now, everyone could see. If she could let go of her foolish notions of love and second attachments and see how much love he had to give her, and how agreeable a match he was…

           

            Marianne rode up to the Park in the carriage sent for her and her family, as she could not yet take such a long walk. She watched the grass and trees with empty eyes, her heart squeezed in her chest, hoping she would not have the disappointment of Colonel Brandon’s absence. She very much wished to make amends to him and be privy to his unreserved friendship. As for the feelings that seemed to arise in her, she would control and deal with them silently, on her own, should it ever be the case. Perhaps she was only vulnerable due to recent events, and projected on the Colonel what she felt for Willoughby, since he was the only gentleman close to her family at the moment who gave her much attention, one of the things she missed from Willoughby. Yes, that must be it.

            Fleetingly, a though crossed her mind. Had she been so rude to the Colonel at the start of their acquaintance due to fear of what she might feel? Especially since Mrs. Jennings and Sir John began their tiresome teasing of the Colonel and herself. She had always had such gallant ideas of love… something so close, so real, could have scared her. If so, she had protected herself in one quarter, only to run in the direction of a brick wall.

            The sight of the manor house chased such thoughts away before they gained depth and roots, and only the apprehension and expectation of seeing him remained. She followed her mother and sister to the drawing room and there they sat. Sir John, Mrs. Jennings… and the Colonel.

            She felt such relief that a smile lighted her face involuntarily as they all stood to greet them. She held on to her shawl and curtsied, calculating exactly when she would have the opportunity to have a word with him, and him alone.

            Colonel Brandon’s heart thudded in his chest as if he had run from Delaford to Barton and had arrived at that exact moment, on foot. It seems the efforts he had gone through to tame his heart were fruitless in absolute. Her smile and more open demeanor bathed his heart in warmth as he bowed and greeted them. Yet, stiffly, with his hands in one another behind his back, he continued the conversation to the group as a whole, trying to not look at her, as to not have his eyes give away his feelings.

            As they sat down in the drawing room once again after their meal, he took his usual place. He always sat there for it was close enough to the pianoforte so he could hear her play through the chatter of the room, though she always played for Willoughby’s praise more than anything else, but it was not so far from where the group sat, so he could participate in the conversation when required. Miss Marianne would not be playing today, certainly, especially since there was no Willoughby to praise her, but he had gotten used to the spot and sat there anyway.

            It gave him a bit of time to himself. To breathe deeply and recompose, something he always seemed to need when around her. He did not, however, count on the fact that she would take a seat on the sofa, beside him. It seemed his heart was beating in his ears once more.

            “Colonel Brandon. I am glad you could come,” she said with a smile, seeming genuinely pleased, pulling her shawl tighter around her.

            She looked so magnificently beautiful in a lilac dress he had always admired. Her color was returning and the life to her eyes was being restored as well, though there was something different there still. Growth. Self-preservation.

            “I am pleased to see your health being so rapidly restored,” he tried with a shy curling of his lips.

            “Yes, though I still seem to have trouble reading. I have tried all week to finish at least one of the books you have so kindly lent me, but I am ashamed to say it was to no avail. I have not made much progress. My eyes and head still ache when strained.”

            “I am in no rush to have them back, you need not worry, Miss Marianne.”

            “I wonder… if it is not imposing too much on your good will, and if you have the time to spare, would you be so kind as to read to me again? I would like to discuss what I did manage to read with someone, and who better than you, who have already read it? I would also like to get through them quicker, so as to read as many books as possible.”

            Colonel Brandon could not completely conceal the surprise and puzzlement in his eyes, and before he could endeavor to reply, make his voice be heard over his galloping heart, she noticed his surprise and continued.

            “Forgive me if I was rude last week and gave you the wrong impression. It was not my intention. I very much enjoyed your reading and appreciate your kindness in wasting your precious time on me. I just did not wish to be a burden. And to feel ashamed that I was so foolish as to put my health at such risk that I cannot do something as simple as read by myself now!” She said with some anguish.

            His smile was more noticeable this time. Time spent with her could never be a waste, nor could being in her presence ever be a burden. He wished to say it, but restrained himself. “You need not be ashamed of anything, Miss Marianne. Being ourselves should never bring shame. And as for your request… would tomorrow afternoon suit you? For me to call. I am afraid I have plans to go shooting with John in the morning.”

            She smiled, relief filling her chest. “Very suitable, yes. I thank you for your kindness, Colonel.”


	11. Chapter 11

            Colonel Brandon tried, in vain, to manage his expectations as he walked down to Barton Cottage. He walked for he hoped the fresh air, the scenery and the controlled steps he took would serve to calm his heart, something the hurried thumping of a horse would certainly not do. But his heart seemed to poison his mind, and all he could do was hope and dream she would enjoy his visit and wish them to be recurrent. That his company would be soothing and perhaps even repairing to her heart, and that one day, this friendship that seemed to grow between them could blossom into something other, something more. A love so full and complete that it would encompass his life.

            He also regretted very much not having brought a new book with him to further please her. But then again he had not expected such a warm welcome from her when he quit Delaford two days past.

            He was greeted at the door by Betsy and escorted inside to see the ladies all in the drawing room. He bowed his good morning and they all curtsied back, but Marianne felt the urge to sit and made no excuses as she did so. He did not mind. She did not look put out by him, just a bit tired, and due to her still relatively fragile health, it was more than understandable. A few minutes of pleasantries had Mrs. Dashwood and her other daughters hurrying along to other activities, to leave Colonel Brandon alone with Marianne. His heart thumped wildly in his chest at the expectation of what was to come. Was she to further break his heart? Or was he to find joy and means to hope further by this encounter?

            Marianne merrily initiated conversation, a very different demeanor of that when he was there last, and told of what she had managed to read on her own, inquiring of his own experiences in his travels and in already having read the book. What Colonel Brandon did not know, nor could he dream of knowing, was that Marianne’s heart also beat hastily in her chest. She attempted to thread a very fine line of being amiable and friendly but not let her heart and foolish romantic notions get the best of her yet again. A fine gentleman such as the Colonel could not possibly have any interest in her, especially not after she had muddied her reputation before his very eyes as she had. But to shut her heart to such feelings was to shut all of herself, and that would lead to rudeness he did not deserve and had already gotten far too much of from her. Thus her trying task.

            But she failed. Failed miserably and progressively as she heard his views and saw they were very much as her own. Where they were not equal, they were not so completely opposed either, only complementary due to his ample experience. She learned from him. She began to admire him more. When she spoke some foolishness from her young and inexperienced mind, he did not reproach her harshly. He respected her opinions. Hers was an arduous task indeed.

            He finished reading the book with her, to her, and his calm, soft, velvet-like voice was soothing, bewitching. Never would have she imagined that calmness would be an endearing quality in a man. She used to think it a sign of dullness and apathy.

            As he closed the book, he prepared to take his leave for luncheon, so they could have their privacy. The day had risen gray, and John had woken up slightly indisposed, and had asked they go shooting in the afternoon, or perhaps on the morrow. That is why the Colonel was there earlier than he had said. He was very sad to do so, leave for luncheon, for he had enjoyed his time with Miss Marianne very much. He had always known she was intelligent, opinionated, but he had never been privy to it so closely. It only served to make him fall deeper in love, if that were even possible. He craved for that, her words and opinions flooding his mind, every day, for the rest of his life. She did not wish to see him go, so she found herself inviting him to luncheon.

            Colonel Brandon of course, graciously accepted, the prospect of spending the afternoon with beautiful Marianne – a request of hers as well – filling his entire being. Marianne found herself regretting her hasty proposal for the sole reason that they had not a decent meal to offer. Praise the heavens her mother had ordered meat to be brought on account of her health, or else she would be more embarrassed still. But the Colonel ate merrily and declared everything wonderful, not taking notice of the lack of quantity or of good silverware. It seemed very honest, and not just politeness. It _was_ honest. He was happier than could be, just because he had been welcome to luncheon by a family he held so highly in his regard, a family he wished to be part of. And he was invited by none other than that who he wished to be the link that bound him to them.

            After luncheon, as they all went out for walks, he sat again at the parlor with Miss Marianne, who could not yet go out for too long a period, especially since the sunlight hurt her eyes still. And the day had cleared, not only outside, but in the Colonel’s heart. So he was charged with keeping Marianne company, and never had he had such a lovely encumbrance.

            Since the history book was finished, she asked him to begin the poetry, not knowing the trouble she had called upon herself. He happily obliged. A few beautiful and touching poems about the wonders of nature were read, and she very much enjoyed his pacing and passion as he read them. His voice, was of course, always soothing. The trouble, however, began when lines that spoke of the wonders of the heart poured out of his tender lips, his soul.

 

If Love's a Sweet Passion, why does it torment?   
If a Bitter, oh tell me whence comes my content?   
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,   
Or grieve at my Fate, when I know 'tis in vain?   
Yet so pleasing the Pain is, so soft is the Dart,   
That at once it both wounds me, and tickles my Heart.

 

I press her Hand gently, look Languishing down,   
And by Passionate Silence I make my Love known.   
But oh! I'm Blest when so kind she does prove,   
By some willing mistake to discover her Love.   
When in striving to hide, she reveals all her Flame,   
And our Eyes tell each other, what neither dares Name.*

 

            As he read on, her heart seemed to at once beat faster and slow down, as if melting. His voice… was soft as velvet and sweet as chocolate. His pacing, lovely. His tone, passionate. He did the poem justice, read it as it should be read. Try as she might to fight and deny it, at that very moment, her heart was completely and irrevocably given to him.

            He was surprised at how composed he managed to be. There he was, speaking his heart, though he could never admit he did so. He felt overwhelmed, yet light that in some capacity, he told her how he felt.

            She blushed furiously and found her emotions harder to control than ever before. She wished he said such words to her because he felt them truly, and not only due to politeness, an act of friendship towards a temporary invalid. Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned her gaze from his sweet, tender countenance which stared down into the book, to the window and the tree that stood outside, swinging softly in the gentle breeze. Control her emotions she must. She wept because she worried. What was this yearning she now felt deep inside? It could not be… love. It could not. What would that say about her? Giving her heart so soon after having it broken? Had Willoughby been her first and true love? Could second attachments be possible after all? Or had she never truly loved him? Confused. She was so very confused.

            She wept out of sorrow as well. Had she not ruined her reputation… had she not been so rude to him for so long… had not she washed away her good looks in that rain and with her illness… she perhaps would have a chance of winning his heart. _If_ indeed this was the start of an attachment on her side. But now, it was pointless. If he indeed had had any regard for her in that sense… If Mrs. Jennings’ jokes had had any truth to them... It was now all in the past, surely.

            “Miss Marianne?” He looked up from the book, worried. She turned to him swiftly, startled, tears still in her eyes.

            “Are you all right?” Had she been reminded of Willoughby? Did these tears indicate that she missed him? His heart began to break.

            A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away quickly. “Yes! Quite. Forgive me. It’s just… your reading is very… that is, it is all it should be. Touching. It left me a bit emotional it seems. You read beautifully, Colonel. With your heart. I quite enjoy it.”

            He smiled, his heart swelling in his chest. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “Forgive me, Miss Marianne.”

            She took the handkerchief and wiped her tears. “Please, Colonel, there is nothing to forgive. Truly. I would very much like for you to read more, if it is not an imposition.”

            “It is no imposition at all,” he smiled shyly. She smiled back as another tear rolled down her cheek, disobeying her will of stopping such nonsense. She wiped it off with his handkerchief and, determined to be done with the crying, handed it back to him.

            He took it. He did not wish to presume she would want to keep something of his. He also had selfish reasons. He wished to have something that had touched her skin, wiped away her tears as he wanted to have done, ever since he first saw her crying over that scoundrel months ago. He would always cherish that handkerchief.

            On he read as she had requested, delighted she had approved of his passion as he read. She began to notice other aspects of him that were quite agreeable, now, with clear eyes and an open heart. His blond, voluminous hair. His tender hazel eyes. His chiseled jawline that moved as he spoke beautiful words to her, though they were not of his writing. His full pink lips seemed so soft. He was a very charming man indeed. How she had never seen it, she failed to imagine. His hands, holding the book, turning the pages… they were so large, yet seemed so gentle. She wondered if they were soft to the touch and strong when embracing. All questions that most likely would never be answered.

            It was a small book of poetry, and time went by rather quickly as he read to her. He took his leave to go back to the Park when there was nearly not enough daylight left to guide him. He did not care. He would walk in the dark if needed, and should he fall to meet his death, he would die a happy man, surely. She had been so open and warm towards him, it was all he could have wished for.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I know this is actually a song, from an opera (The Fairy Queen, by Henry Purcell), but I thought it so pretty and fitting to the moment... so just indulge me and pretend it would be in a little collection of poems.


	12. Chapter 12

He had left to go back to Delaford on the morning following the hunt he had promised John, with the promise of returning in a few days’ time with new books for Miss Marianne. She waited eagerly, still trying to control her emotions and expectations, but finding that she missed his company. Three days brought the Colonel back with more books, which she requested him to read though she was now able to do so significantly better on her own. He rejoiced at her request and read to her with lightness in his heart.

            And so the process repeated itself every three or four days, for four or five times, both being pulled deeper into one another without daring to presume the other felt anything other than esteem and friendship. But alas, there came a fortnight where business at Delaford and elsewhere made it impossible for the Colonel to visit Barton. So he returned after half a month of not seeing his beloved Marianne, his heart bursting with the ache of her absence, hoping she had felt his as well.

            She had. She sat quite agitated for that fortnight, trying to read the books he had left her with but not succeeding in absorbing a word of them, trying to sew or help her mother and sister but not concentrating for long on that either. Not even the pianoforte, when she went for dinner at the Park, was enough to soothe her and keep her mind focused.

            During that fortnight, the Dashwoods received the visit of Edward Ferrars. It was a very tense visit at first, as they had heard he was now finally wed to the former Miss Steele. But they learned he was indeed unmarried, and Miss Lucy Steele was in fact Mrs. _Robert_ Ferrars. This news in itself was joyous, but more joy followed such news, for Edward proposed marriage to Elinor. That was an event that took up the hearts of all the Dashwoods for days. But not even such joyous news kept Marianne’s focus for long. Though she loved her sister and was extremely happy for her, now with a better understanding of her feelings and of how Edward could be quite suitable for her, Marianne could not help but think she had ruined all her chances of ever feeling such happiness, due to her foolishness. The only thing that soothed her was the sight of Colonel Brandon riding up to the Cottage in the days that followed. It brought a smile to her lips.

            The Colonel arrived to a joyous and hectic household, for Edward had stayed behind with them for a few days, until he had to return to finish his studies to be able to take his place at the Delaford Parish. He and Colonel Brandon had already made each other’s acquaintance in London, when Edward called to thank the Colonel for his kindness and generous offer, but the Colonel did not recall him being so cheerful. It was announced that Elinor was to be Mrs. Ferrars and take up the living in Delaford with him, and things became a bit clearer to Colonel Brandon. Or at least, Edward’s cheerfulness was explained.

Though the thought of having such a good friend as Elinor as a neighbor was all that could be agreeable to him, especially since it could make for another means to see Miss Marianne often, the Colonel remained slightly puzzled after his wishes of congratulations and happiness were given. He had enough time to propose a trip to Delaford as soon as Miss Marianne’s health would allow it, so the betrothed could inspect their future home, before Marianne beseeched him to accompany her on a short walk. She needed time with the Colonel, whom she had missed so dearly, and away from the bustle that was Barton Cottage.

            “Are you quite sure, Miss Marianne?” He asked with worry of her health, but excited with the prospect of having her completely to himself, if only for a few minutes. “Will the exertion not be too much?”

            “We need not go far,” she smiled. “I just terribly miss… my walks. And the fresh air,” she corrected herself in time.

            He set off, her arm in his, and it was the most wonderful feeling. The closest he had ever been to her, the most they had ever touched. But it was only so out of necessity, and he should not dare to hope.

 This act was not taken for granted by her either. She found herself suppressing a wish to lay her head on his shoulder, and the thought that it would be nice indeed to have this happen every single day.

            “Forgive me if I rushed you outside, Colonel. It was not my intention to deprive you of anyone’s company. It is just I… I do adore my family, and Edward, who is now to be my brother, but I did need some time away from all the commotion,” she smiled. “It can get very crowded in that cottage.”

            “I am more than glad to escort you on your walk, Miss Marianne, and provide some relief.” _Your company is all I ever need._ But he only gave one of his timid smiles, his heart pounding as her hand moved on his arm, accommodating itself.

            “I am still getting used to living in such close quarters. In Norland I had many more moments to myself. More peace and quiet.”

            “I imagine you must miss Norland very much.”

            “Not as I once did, no. I’ve come to realize that had I not left, I would have never made such good friends as I have here.” She smiled up at him and the smile brightened his whole being. He could not react and only looked at her with what must have been a very mesmerized and foolish gaze. His jaw slightly dropped. He corrected himself immediately. “I only do… cherish the memories made there,” she continued, “and wish such a lovely estate could be left in better hands than that of Fanny.”

            Colonel Brandon could not help but chuckle. Her heart swelled with warmth at the sweet sound she had caused, that she had never heard from him. After a moment of silence, he began to inquire.

            “I do not mean to intrude, but… Mrs. Jennings’ teasing of poor Miss Dashwood had a bottom of truth to it, I take it? The mysterious Mr. F.” He chuckled again. “I thought it was mere teasing.”

            Marianne blushed, remembering the older woman’s teasing of the Colonel and herself, ashamed to think of how she had acted, fearful to learn what he thought of it. “Well, yes… Elinor and Edward did form an attachment in Norland, it was plain to see. But Fanny did not approve and drove us away.”

            Suddenly, much of the events in London made sense to the Colonel.

            “Sir John did say Mrs. Jennings was better than his best pointer,” she tried in jest. She wished to make him chuckle again and hear such a sweet sound. And that he did, accompanied this time by a wider smile than his shy ones, almost bearing teeth.

            “I however do not understand where Miss Steele is now,” he said.

            “You must not think ill of Elinor, I beseech you! She was not aware of Miss Steele’s existence when we were in Norland, otherwise she would never have allowed herself…”

            “Miss Marianne, I could never think ill of your sister. Or of you. Or of any of your family. I do remember the circumstances in which Mr. Ferrars’ engagement were made known, so I assume no one knew, if his family did not. I believe it was an error of communication on Mr. Ferrars’ part, coupled with a… young heart’s mistake that honor required him to keep. I deduce that much, at least.” It was so wonderful to converse so openly and in such a friendly manner towards her, the woman he loved. And she accepted it, he could see by her smile. That only made it all the better.

            “It seems Miss Steele, Mrs. Ferrars I should say, had an unexpected transfer of affections to Mr. Robert Ferrars.”

            “Oh, I see.”

            “It seems quite fortunate she had such a change of heart as the Ferrars’ inheritance was also doted on him, irrevocably.”

            “Indeed it does,” he chuckled.

            She blushed. “Forgive me, Colonel. I should not be so vile and unladylike in my comments.”

            “I do not see how speaking the truth can be vile and unladylike. You may always be yourself when in my presence, Miss Marianne, with no shame. I can say my… friendship for you will not waver due to that. You are always honest and true to your heart and that is… admirable."

            She felt overwhelmed with his kind words, his… admiration of her. Such a foolish, young girl. So undeserving. Yet he had said it sincerely. She wanted to cry. She looked down at her feet quickly, trying to blink away the tears in her eyes, and became dizzy, her vision slightly blackened. She stopped walking and involuntarily squeezed his arm.

            Colonel Brandon immediately noticed she did not feel well, and that it seemed she could fall to the ground at any moment. Without a second thought, he swept her into his arms, carrying her as he had weeks ago, in the rain. As he headed back to the cottage, he tried to control his heartbeat. It was thumping in his chest due to excitement of having her in his arms again, and worry for her health.

            “Are you well, Miss Marianne?”

            “Yes, yes, I think so,” she blinked as she clung to his neck, trying to regain her clear vision. She did, and saw his worried countenance, and finally realized his strong arms were around her, holding her. It was an incomparable feeling.

            “I just… felt some dizziness.” She was blushing now, with his touch, her breathing growing heavy at their closeness.

            Some small part of him wished her sudden alteration was due to him, his touch, but more likely it was her illness combined with the relatively long walk they had taken. Or perhaps it _was_ due to his touch… aversion to it. He however could not set her down, not in this state. She might collapse. And in his arms, he could get her home more hastily.

            “I must get you home, you have over exerted yourself,” he said, taking hurried steps as he held her.

            “Truly, I am well. Perhaps with a moment’s rest I could walk home myself, and spare you the trouble…”

            But he charged on, not putting her down and she felt glad for it. She took the time to properly feel his embrace, now she was alert and conscious to it. It was indeed strong, yet soothing. It calmed her heart rate to feel him, feel his heart thudding in his chest, certainly due to the exertion. Little did she know it was not the main reason for it to be beating so. She became impressed with how long he carried her, how strong he truly was, without faltering in so much as one step. It made her forget how much older he was than her, though that had already slowly been forgotten during their readings and discussions, only to be remembered in the best ways, such as when he added something she could not foresee due to her young age and lack of worldly experience.

            She found herself suppressing the urge to caress his cheek, his chest, sink her hands into his soft hair. She blushed all the way home due to her thoughts.

            As they arrived at Barton Cottage, they caused alarm.

            “Miss Marianne did not feel well on our walk.” He said as he was shown by her mother to the sofa where he could place her.         

            “It is no cause for concern, truly, I just experienced some faintness. I’m sure I would have recovered in a moment or two.” She looked up at all of them and smiled.

            “You were about to collapse, Miss Marianne.”

            “Yes, well… thanks to your kindness I am very well now.” She continued to smile.

            “I will leave you to rest, and perhaps call tomorrow, if that is acceptable.”

            “Yes, certainly, though you do not need to leave now on my account, by all means!”

            “It sounds as if you should rest Marianne, and we should perhaps call a doctor, but it is true the Colonel need not leave. Perhaps he would like to have some tea with us?” Mrs. Dashwood smiled.

            “I do not wish to impose. I will call again on the morrow.” Colonel Brandon bowed and took his leave. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Miss Marianne.”

            There was no time for her to process and reply as he was escorted by her mother and Margaret to the door.

            “Are you truly well, dearest? You seem a bit agitated,” Elinor inquired.

            “He… he was so quick on his feet and just lifted me off the ground before I could even think!”

            Mrs. Dashwood had come in to hear her daughter say it as Margaret stayed outside, walking with the Colonel for a small part of the way. She had always enjoyed him and his stories.

            “It was astonishing!” Marianne continued saying, more to herself than anyone else in the room. “And he carried me all this way without breaking a step or catching his breath…”

            Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood exchanged looks at Marianne’s amazement, recalling a similar scene with the then incomparable Willoughby. It seemed he had finally met his match. Or Marianne had finally realized there were men who far bested him, the Colonel certainly being the foremost.

            “Yes, the Colonel should certainly be capable of such a feat, having been in the army,” Mrs. Dashwood said with a smile as she took Marianne’s shoes off. “And he _has_ done it before, I recall.”

            Marianne just sat quietly now, wallowing in her own amazement, as Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood smiled and Edward looked on not quite understanding what went on.


	13. Chapter 13

            Colonel Brandon woke with excitement filling his being. With it, a touch of nerves. It was only when he had gotten to Barton Park, to his assigned room there, that he had had time to ponder that she was not in any immediate danger. She was in fact  rather well when he had left her. With the relief of such an observation came the realization that he had held her in his arms, so close, for the first – only – time while she was conscious. And she had not protested vehemently. She had tried to be proper and polite, yes, but he did not think she felt any sort of disgust or displeasure at his touch. Or had he interpreted wrongly? He would have to call again and assess what her demeanor would be like, if indeed she felt well enough to endure him. Or if she would be closed off again as a few weeks past when she refused his reading.

            He thought to take the puzzle of when he was a boy that he had brought to Barton for Margaret and had forgotten to present to her the previous day. It was of a map of the world, so he was certain she would enjoy it, desirous of heading a fleet as she was. He rather liked Margaret’s company. She was a sweet girl. And had been of pivotal importance in distracting him and making him able to maintain composure and his wretchedness concealed when Marianne had eyes and ears for no one but Willoughby. He owed Margaret a great deal, and should be glad to please her. The puzzle was not so easily put together, despite being meant for children’s lessons, so he could help her assemble it, should Miss Marianne not wish for his company after he had been so daring with her. He had only meant well, but his concern may have made him overzealous and made him make a fool of himself.

            As he arrived at the cottage, he was greeted with the same kindness and attention he always was. Only Miss Marianne was not present. He wondered if she hid from him due to events of the previous day, and a pang of disappointment stung his heart to think he could lose the friendship she had seemed to feel towards him now, and go back to mostly only watching her from a distance as she tried her best to ignore his presence.

            It was a few minutes of conversation before he could bring himself to ask of her and not sound too eager.

            “Is… Miss Marianne well?” He addressed this to her mother.

            “Oh, yes, quite. She assured me there was no need to fetch the doctor and she does seem very well indeed. Thank you for your kindness yesterday. I believe she wished to rest, but I might go up and tell her you are here, Colonel.” She moved to stand but he spoke.

            “That is not necessary, Mrs. Dashwood. Let her rest,” he gave one of his small smiles. He did not wish to impose himself on her. It might be an excuse to avoid him. His mind felt relief that he had thought of the puzzle as his heart felt strangled with grief and remembrance of what life was without her sweet smiles directed at him, her company, her clever conversation.

            Elinor and Edward left for their walk and much craved alone time as Margaret received the puzzle with much joy, leading him to the dining table as she carried the box. She spread the pieces on it and eagerly began to try and sort them as he watched.

            “Do you wish for my help, Captain Margaret?”

            “Yes, Colonel, please. It would be much appreciated,” she smiled widely at him.

            He let out a brief chuckle and took a seat, beginning to sort pieces with Margaret. Mrs. Dashwood smiled. As she stood closer to the hallway than them, she heard as Marianne came down and announced her.

            “Ah, here is Marianne now, Colonel.”

            He stood quickly to greet her as his heart leapt in anticipation of how her demeanor would be towards him.

            She greeted him with a warm smile and a curtsy. “Forgive me, Colonel, I did not realize you had arrived. Why did you not send for me, Mama?”

            Before Mrs. Dashwood could reply, the Colonel spoke up. “She wished to, but I said she should allow you your rest. Do you feel well, Miss Marianne?”

            “Yes, very. Thank you for your inquiry.”

            He thought she looked quite lovely and livelier than she had lately, and wished to tell her so but feared being too bold. The truth was she had been upstairs meticulously tending to her curls, choosing what might be viewed as her best dress – though they were all rather disappointing to her today – and trying some tricks to make her cheeks and lips a darker shade of pink, all while chastising herself for doing such things. She should not indulge her foolish expectations. The Colonel had no such interest in her. No other good man would again, after all that was said of her and how her illness had caused her looks to fade. What did it say of her? How inconstant was her heart? Was she so fickle as to have a second attachment? And only a few months after her heart had been thoroughly and completely broken? And had she suffered so much and made such a fool of herself for absolutely nothing? It was absolutely unnerving and set her mind in such speed and confusion….

            But she was sure of one thing. She could not let her feelings seethe through and she certainly could not let her confusion lead her to be unkind to such a good friend. Though the thought of being unkind to him now seemed utterly impossible to her, even if she were to actively try.

            Colonel Brandon was torn between asking Miss Marianne if she would like him to read to her, and not abandoning Margaret. He had already promised Margaret to help, he could not go back on it. So not knowing quite what to say, he sat at the table once more and just smiled shyly at Marianne before looking again to what Margaret had already managed to do and hoping to help. Miss Marianne would likely move into another room to do better things, and be glad to be rid of him.

            “A puzzle! How fun. May I help?” She asked. Margaret answered she could as Colonel Brandon’s heart thumped steadily in his chest, joyful she was not quick to jump at the opportunity to be away from him. She was not repelled by him, and it showed in the fact that out of any number of chairs she could choose to sit on, she took the one closest to him and opposite Margaret on the large round table.

            They silently rummaged through the wooden pieces, with only Margaret exclaiming something or other when she managed to find a correct piece. They both thought it was rather nice, sitting next to one another in companiable silence. It made their hearts feel light with joy. Of course neither knew or would readily accept the other might feel the way they did.

            Margaret of course, great connoisseur of the Atlas, was the one doing most of the work, especially since her companions’ minds were busy with wondering, excitement, and try as they might to suppress it, hope. Both Colonel Brandon and Marianne spotted the piece that would fit where Margaret had stopped her progress, and reached for it simultaneously. Their hands touched and Colonel Brandon could die a happy man just having felt such warmth from her palm on his. She felt a jolt of excitement she knew she should not, for it was very unladylike of her. The kind she used to feel when Willoughby took her hand. She had been thinking now that it had been Willoughby’s doing, that he would take her hand with malice and cause such turmoil in her. But this event right now caused her doubts. Colonel Brandon would never act maliciously toward her. So it must indeed be her fault. She was not being prudent, as she had vowed to be, as her elder sister was. She quickly retrieved her hand, embarrassed, without looking at him. He, torn between thinking she was repulsed by his touch or embarrassed for having felt something, picked up the piece and set it where it should be, trying not to drive himself crazy with his thoughts and wonderings.

            Again, a while later, they reached for the same wooden piece, and again their hands touched. Colonel Brandon was quick to pick it up and hand it to her though, as a test, with a smile, shy, bearing no teeth. She looked at him, startled at first, blushing for she had felt that jolt run through her body again, but upon seeing his sweet features and tender eyes, her expression changed to one of delight, though she still blushed, her heart leaping in her chest. It suddenly did not feel so wrong. This could not be. She felt something for him. Her heart was mistaking his kindness and gentlemanly ways for something that was not there. She must control herself. She took the wooden piece from his hand with a shy smile herself as his touch made goose prickles run down her spine and warmth spread around her heart.

            It was not long before the puzzle was complete. Margaret beamed with pride admiring it, then took it apart, placing the pieces in the box to clear the table for tea.

            “Here, Colonel. Thank you, I quite enjoyed it,” she said, handing him the box.

            “It is yours, Captain Margaret,” he said, his hand held up as a form of politely rejecting the box.

            “Really?” Margaret asked with sparkling eyes.

            “Yes,” he smiled softly.

            “Thank you, Colonel!” She said eagerly and ran up to store it in her room.

            Colonel Brandon chuckled, and Marianne’s heart once again filled with warmth. He was indeed such a kind and honorable man. Then angst strangled it with the thought that perhaps she could now, as they stood there, be happily married to him, free to take his hand in hers as she had wished to all the while they played with the puzzle, free to go to him and request his embrace as she curiously wished to do as well. It could all be possible, had she not ruined everything, her reputation. And had Mrs. Jennings’ teasing been true, which she was not certain now it ever was.

            “Colonel,” she found herself saying with no consent of her mind, “it is a beautiful day out, still. Perhaps after tea you might escort me on a walk?” She smiled. “I promise I do feel well for it.”

            He looked at her, a bit amazed at her forwardness. It must mean she enjoyed his company. She must have realized she was being too forward, for before he could speak, she continued

            “I just… though you would like to discuss… that is, you would be kind enough to discuss what I managed to read of the latest book you have lent me.” She said, embarrassed and disappointed that try as she may, she seemed unable to act prudently.

            “Nothing could bring me more joy, Miss Marianne,” he said before she could continue in her apologetic tone. She smiled, relieved, and he smiled as well, less shyly than usual, yet still not bearing teeth.

            After they had their tea, they were off on their walk. Marianne carried the book they discussed in one hand, and took the arm he had offered in fear of her dizzy spells in the other. Once again she was amazed at how alike they seemed to think, and how his opinions complemented hers, how she learned from him. He respected her thoughts, and even when she said something foolish, he was gentle in offering another view. _He_ was not amazed in the slightest, for he had always known her to be intelligent and opinionated. He was just glad to be able to share such moments with her, and felt their connection to be growing deeper, though he was still afraid to properly take the chance of courting her.

            As their discussion reached the point she had gotten to in the book, they reached a very charming birch tree, small, but providing them with a comfortable shade. She could not resist it.

            “Shall we sit down?” She asked.

            “Do you feel unwell, Miss Marianne?”

            “Oh no, no… I… forgive me. You must think me absolutely barbaric, to sit on the dirt as such, without even a towel! I just thought it would be merry to enjoy the shade and gentle breeze, and perhaps read a bit more.”

            Again he was astonished and overflowing with joy that she would wish for more of his company.

            “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have proposed it. It was very unladylike of me. I did not mean to…”

            “Miss Marianne, please. Do not let yourself be so anxious. I would enjoy sitting in this shade very much,” he smiled. He them parted from her, very reluctant to lose her touch on his arm, to take off his coat. He laid it on the grass, close to the tree.

            “Oh, you needed not…”

            He offered his hand so she could support herself while sitting. “Please,” he indicated the spot, inviting her to sit.

            She smiled and took his hand and sat herself down on his coat, being careful to leave space for him. He sat beside her, but at a respectful distance, sitting half on the grass and taking off his hat.

            “Miss Marianne, at the risk of sounding repetitive, I ask you to never feel nervous about being yourself around me. I could never think ill thoughts of you.”

            She smiled, embarrassed, her heart filling with warmth, with… love that wished to be let out, to pour from her eyes as well. She looked down at her book quickly and blinked as she tried to find her place in it. When she did, she handed the book to him.

            “Would you be so kind?” She asked.

            “Gladly.” He replied as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair and she held her hands in an effort not to smooth it out for him, run her fingers through it. Simply touch him.

            He read to her and his tender velvet voice, along with the relaxing shade and the gentle breeze soothed her. It was all she could do not to lie on his shoulder and wish to stay there forever, a feeling they both shared, unbeknownst to one another.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all for your lovely reviews and kudos. I very much appreciate them, always. They make my days.

            Marianne was finally feeling stronger, if not completely recovered from the hardship of her fever, and Miss Dashwood being now betrothed to Mr. Ferrars, the soon to be clergy of Delaford, Colonel Brandon finally had the opportunity he wished for to invite the Dashwoods to Delaford. He longed to see Miss Marianne in his house, however he could. He was very well aware that it was unwise to give his heart room to hope and dream as such. But he could not help it.

            And so the arrangements were made and the day came when Delaford was to receive the Dashwoods and that who he deeply wished was to be its future mistress. Colonel Brandon was a bit nervous, and could not remember the last time he had felt so agitated. It was foolish to be as such. He was not even courting her properly, and could not be sure how she would feel if he were to go through with such a thing, if she would welcome his advances. He willed himself to remain calm and grounded, aware that this was nothing more than a visit for Miss Dashwood to get familiarized with the Parsonage, her future home, and the neighborhood. They would only come to his house as well for it was his duty as host and master of the estate to receive them.

            Colonel Brandon had sent his carriage to them. Sir John and Mrs. Jennings were to accompany all of the Dashwoods, and so their carriage only would not be enough. The Dashwoods were at Barton Park early in the morning, waiting for the carriage to arrive so they could leave all at once, and Marianne looked out the window of the drawing room every three minutes, looking nervous, feeling like three quarters of an hour had gone by since she had last looked. Elinor watched her as she conversed with Sir John and their mother, and smiled knowingly.

            Marianne finally spotted the carriage approaching in the distance. She turned quickly to the nearest looking glass she could find and arranged her curls, which were already quite neat. She also pinched her cheeks, in an effort to bring more color to them. Elinor approached her.

            “I do not think he is actually coming with the carriage, dearest,” she said in a low tone so the others would not hear, and smiled softly.

            Marianne flushed red. “I do not know what you are referring to, Elinor!” She let out a bit irritated, and walked towards the front door.

            As they rode in a carriage with Mrs. Jennings, Margaret and Mama being in the other with Sir John, Elinor watched as Marianne’s nerves seemed to consume her. She was worried her sister would drive herself to illness again, so agitated she seemed lately, but nothing could be said or done. Not with Mrs. Jennings in the carriage with them. Even if they were alone, there was nothing that could be said, for Marianne refused to acknowledge that she now felt something other than friendship and gratitude towards Colonel Brandon, even if it was very obvious to Mama and Margaret as well. She could not, would not fall in love again. It was impossible. The flustering and… churning of her insides, the excitement that she felt whenever she was around the Colonel, had to have another explanation.

            The carriages pulled up to Delaford Manor and Marianne looked out of the window in awe as the door was opened and Mrs. Jennings began her descent, being helped out by a large male hand, she did not quite know or care whose. It was a magnificent house. Imposing. The surroundings were beautiful as well, green grass perfect for a picnic, perfectly kept hedges. Anyone would be lucky to reside in such a place. When her time to exit the ride came, she took the hand that was offered to her without paying much attention, for the house still commended most of her perception, but she soon found it was Colonel Brandon who held her hand as she heard the low rumble of his voice greet her and speak her name. Butterflies fluttered about in her stomach and she tried to master her nerves.

            “Hello, Colonel,” she said in what she hoped was a contained tone. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”  
            He simply nodded once and gave a small smile.

            Everyone was now assembled around him, eagerly awaiting for the host to lead the way.

            “Miss Dashwood, Mr. Ferrars awaits you at the parsonage, so I thought we might all start there. You could inspect your future home, see what is to your liking and what work will need to be done, and then we may all head back here for luncheon. What do you all say?”

            Everybody consented cheerfully and Colonel Brandon led the way, walking next to Elinor, escorting her.

            “I’m sure everything will be in complete order” she said as they walked on.

            Marianne followed with her mother and Margaret, Sir John and Mrs. Jennings – who already knew the estate – close behind. Marianne felt a pang of jealousy that it was not her beside the Colonel, and that left her perplex. She was quite relieved, however, that Elinor did not walk arm in arm with him, as she herself recently had back in Barton, and had very much enjoyed.

            They all inspected the parsonage. Mrs. Jennings, as was to be expected, found many little faults. But Elinor seemed pleased with all that had already been set forth by the Colonel and her future husband, and had nothing but compliments.

            Marianne was very taken with the estate as a whole, the neighborhood, the few people they had met on their way. She also very much liked the Parsonage, and thought Elinor would be very happy living in such a place with the husband she chose, the man she loved. Marianne herself would adore it every time she was to come visit them.

            As they made their way back to the manor, the Colonel was free of company, since Elinor was now arm in arm with her betrothed. But Marianne dared not walk beside him, or take his arm as she very well wished to. He had not offered in any case. It would seem too bold. Very unladylike. Her mother eventually found her way to the Colonel’s side, and Marianne carried on with Margaret, once again feeling what seemed to be jealousy for whoever had the pleasure of the Colonel’s company.

            Lunch was to be served as a sort of picnic, out in his walled back garden. But before they could get to it, he would give the Dashwoods a tour of the manor.

            Marianne observed every detail, every corner, despite herself. It was all in very good taste, and it pleased her. She blushed and smiled to herself as she tried to suppress the silly thoughts that came to her foolish mind. She wondered if the Colonel had refurbished the house himself, if he had had some sort of help, or if it had merely been maintained from the time Eliza was mistress at Delaford. Or even his mother.

            She was absolutely stunned by the library. He had a very large collection of books, as she had never seen before. She honestly wished she could remain locked in there for the rest of the day, exploring. So much so that she fell behind without notice, neither by herself or the group. Everyone had left to inspect the next room and she stood there, holding her shawl to her arms and admiring the shelves filled with tomes that took over most of the walls and stretched up to the high ceiling.

            “Miss Marianne?” She heard Colonel Brandon call from the door.

            She was pulled away from her thoughts in a start and turned to face him. “Forgive me, Colonel,” said Marianne, embarrassed, as she walked towards him.

            “Is the library to your liking?” He smiled shyly.

            “Oh, it is truly amazing,” she smiled as she halted before him, inside the library still. “Norland had not one so vast. Nor does Barton, from what I have seen.”

            “It is at your disposal,” he offered as she walked past him and he shut the door behind her.

            In the music room, her focus was of course on his Broadwood Grand. It was a marvelous instrument. She longed to touch it, to play it, but she would not be so impertinent as to offer such a thing. She could not be the old Marianne, who lacked manners and embarrassed herself and her family. With no regard for anyone’s feelings. So she held herself, her elbows, trying to master her wishes. But he had said she could always be herself around him, she remembered, and it moved her all over again. She could not take it any longer, and so a hand came to rest on the pianoforte and caress its shiny honey colored wood.

            “Miss Marianne will have to play for us later, of course,” Sir John stated.

            Marianne smiled. “It would be my pleasure if the Colonel would allow it.”

            “Allow it?” Sir John asked cheerfully as was his way. “He would be a fool if he did not beg for it.”

            Colonel Brandon smiled shyly. “I would love for nothing more than to have you play, Miss Marianne.”

            She shyly nodded her gratitude.

            As the others continued to chat away, analyzing the room and its details, Marianne noticed the curtains. She did not like the color of them. They were too dark and did not suit the beauty of the instrument, which was of course the focus of the room. She could not help but stare at the curtains as she though thoroughly on this and suggested to herself what colors and fabric would better suit those windows.

            Something on her face must have made her dislike evident, though she tried so hard to keep it impassive, for she heard Mrs. Jennings utter: “I dare say, Colonel, that Miss Marianne does not approve of your curtains.” She chuckled.

            Marianne looked from Mrs. Jennings to the Colonel, wide-eyed and startled, horrified, not knowing what to say.

            “There now, Miss Marianne, it is nothing so great that a mistress to this household cannot sort! Perhaps Colonel Brandon would like your opinion on a new fabric.” Mrs. Jennings winked and chuckled.

            Marianne’s cheeks turned crimson. “Mrs. Jennings, I…. how…” She was flustered, Colonel Brandon noticed, but she did not seem outraged, something such a comment would have caused her not so long ago. She seemed simply… abashed, perhaps of having her exact thoughts or wishes revealed to everyone. Colonel Brandon smiled inadvertently, allowing a drop more of hope into its heart.

            “Colonel Brandon, I would very much like to see the fruit trees Mrs. Jennings has talked so much about, if it were possible,” Margaret interrupted Marianne’s stuttering attempts, saving her from further embarrassment.

            “Certainly,” Colonel Brandon smiled and began to lead the way.

            Margaret looked to Marianne pointedly, and Marianne silently thanked her with her eyes.

            The party finally made it to the walled back garden. There was a patio, where the tables were set for their meal, that was on higher ground than the rest of the garden, providing a spectacular view. There were fruit trees, decorative hedges – neatly trimmed – along with the ones that walled it, and a pond, all forming a magnificent maze-type garden.

            Margaret ran down the steps and into it with such excitement, and she pulled Elinor to go explore with her. Elinor did not protest and followed. Ever since her engagement to Edward, she was becoming more open and less strict, a bit more like Marianne… or at least what she used to be. Edward, of course, followed his beloved.

            That left the older folks – and Marianne – admiring the garden from the patio. All except Marianne had many positive remarks to make and all chatted about her, but the noise did not break her peace and the concentration she had in observing it all. She had wished to follow her younger sister running into such wonderful scenery, but she was not sure she was yet recovered enough to strain herself as such. She did not wish to collapse and ruin everyone’s day. She also did not wish to seem like a foolish child in sight of Colonel Brandon.

            Sir John made some remark about the old and tired folks sitting down to the table and they all turned back, heading to the immediate vicinity of the house. Marianne, however, remained in her reverie, watching the garden, her hands holding her shawl on their opposite arm. She was lost in thoughts of how peaceful this place felt. She could see herself living there. And being happy. She could see herself sitting right there, on one of the wooden benches that adorned the patio, watching the sunset, safely enclosed in the Colonel’s strong embrace. She had often thought about being in his arms ever since she was actually in them not a week before, and recalled being in them when he rescued her from the rain. She wondered what it would feel like to be in them in a moment not of panic, but of tenderness.

            Colonel Brandon noticed she had not followed them or her sisters. He decided to leave the others to get comfortable, and turned to go after her once again. As the others chatted, Mrs. Jennings noticed this, and elbowed Mrs. Dashwood, indicating the Colonel’s receding figure with her chin and chuckling.

            “Let us hope those two get things sorted at last.”

 

            “Miss Marianne?”

            His smooth voice coming from behind her broke her trance, and she immediately blushed for the thoughts she had been having, as if he could see them. His sweet voice in her ear was added to the image painted in her mind, and it made her whole body tingle to think of being held by him and have him whisper in her ear.

            “Colonel, forgive me,” she smiled shyly. “I was just… admiring your magnificent garden. Your home is very beautiful.”

            He smiled, his heart swelling in his chest. “I am glad you found it… to your liking. Would you like to take a turn in the garden?” He found the courage to ask after a moment of silence, offering his arm.

            She smiled as she took it, having spent all morning wishing she could have been arm in arm with him. Her heart beat madly in her chest and made her blush furiously. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

            They walked slowly and in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company, both nervous as to what it was the other was feeling, unaware they were both of the exact same heart.

            She admired the fruit trees, the mulberry one in a corner she could see, though still far from it, all as Mrs. Jennings had described to her before they entered the carriage to come to Delaford. All with beautiful and appetizing fruits growing on them. The garden was of course very well kept, and they had even encountered a servant who picked the fruits freshly for the meal they had probably started up on the patio. She admired the peaches in particular, as they walked under them. They indeed looked very juicy. She felt him letting go of her arm and almost cried out in protest, wondering what it was she had done wrong. But then she saw he reached for a peach in a low hanging branch and picked it, offering it to her.

            “Thank you,” she smiled shyly as she accepted the offer, thinking how thoughtful he was, and attentive, to have noticed she was indeed wishing to taste one.

            She bit into the fruit, and it was as juicy as it looked, so much so that its nectar ran down her lips. She wiped it off quickly with a finger as she blushed and he offered her a handkerchief. Again she took his offer with gratitude and wiped her lips. As he watched, he wished he could kiss her lips clean, tasting her sweetness along with that of the fruit’s nectar.

            He offered his arm again and they continued their walk.

            “I meant what I said, Miss Marianne, about the library being at your disposal. Do you still have a mind to… further your studies?”

            She didn’t know what to say. She strangely did not wish to further nurture the idea that she had implemented a while ago, of never loving again and only living to study and look after her mother. She found herself not wishing to scare him away, should he someday have interest. Though she still thought it quite impossible, after her abominable behavior. But there was no way of taking it back without seeming fickle and empty. And it _had_ provided her with more closeness with him.

            “Yes, I believe education is very important,” she tried.

            He was, in fact, trying to see if he could feed his heart’s hopes. Her answer was not too discouraging.

            “I can send a carriage for you, whenever it is of your convenience, so you can spend the day in the library. I will, of course, continue to take books to you whenever I visit. I believe, however, that you may better chose what is to your liking were you to have direct access.”

            “That is very kind, but I do not wish to impose and trouble you.”

            “It would be no trouble at all. It would be a pleasure to have you.”

            They were approaching the party again. Her sisters and Mr. Ferrars had already joined.

            “Think on a day that suits you, and we may start this arrangement as early as next week,” he smiled.

            They both rejoined the party, excited with the prospect of such constant visits.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Please leave comments! I really enjoy them, as I hope you enjoy the story.

            On the next week, Colonel Brandon’s carriage was sent to pick Miss Dashwood and Miss Marianne up. The former was going not only to start arranging matters in her future home and oversee, along with Colonel Brandon, the changes being made to the Parsonage while Edward was away finishing his studies, but also as a sort of chaperone, for propriety’s sake only, since Mrs. Dashwood very much trusted Colonel Brandon to be the gentleman he was, even if alone in his home with Marianne.

            The carriage arrived at the sweep of Delaford Manor midmorning. It was a pleasant ride, the only shaking being that of Marianne’s hands in excitement of seeing the Colonel and Delaford again. Her stomach also churned inside her body in anticipation, and due to nerves.

            Colonel Brandon was at the door, waiting for them, and as Marianne saw him, her heart beat faster. She could not help it, try as she may to deny and push down her feelings.

            He helped them out of the carriage, and the touch of his hand and his warm eyes looking into hers as he helped her out sent goose prickles down her spine. The Colonel escorted Marianne to the library and asked she feel free to explore whatever her heart desired, to make herself feel at home, as he walked down to the Parsonage with Miss Dashwood. It brought a slight smile to his lips, telling her to feel at home, for the deepest desire in his heart was for it to be her home. And though he tried to think rationally and not mistake her politeness and friendship with anything more, with what he hoped she would feel, it was becoming very hard to properly read her smiles and interpret her actions. He was feeling dangerously confident and hopeful that he might indeed win her heart.

            Marianne was left alone in his library to explore, and found she could sit in such a room for the rest of her life. The windows were ample, occupying a whole wall, with a view to his beautiful back garden, and they lit the room marvelously well so one could read with no need of candlelight and without straining one’s eyes well into the early evenings. The bookcases were tall, from floor to ceiling, and stretched from wall to wall – except for the one wall that was all windows – and such bookcases were all filled with interesting tomes. There was a variety of comfortable places to choose from to sit and enjoy your book: two sofas facing each other, two armchairs facing the fire, a small table set with two chairs, next to the windows, a larger table in the middle of the room, behind a sofa, that had some sculptures and wooden boxes on it but still had room on its surface with a chair pushed up to it, and a chaise-longue in a corner, where a small window opened amidst the walls of bookcases, further enhancing the light.

            She ran her hands on the spines of the books and chose one that was about the Indies, its history and culture and the wars fought there. It warmed her heart, for it was a small way to somehow live what he had lived, share his experiences. She soon found though that the perfect room with the many choices in books was not quite enough to keep her happy all her life. His presence, reading to her, ending each page or chapter with a story of his own, _that_ is what she needed to complete the happiness.

            There was a knock on the slightly open door and her heart beat in her throat it seemed. She hoped he could join her. Her eyes were growing tired. She still would cherish his reading to her, though she gradually felt much better every day. But it was not him. It was only a servant, with a tray.

            “Miss Marianne, Colonel Brandon has asked tea to be brought to you, and for me to make sure all is well.”

            “Oh yes, I’m fine, thank you.” Was he back? Did he not wish to join her?

            The maid walked to the small table with two chairs close to the large windows and set the tray down. “Would this be all right for you to have your tea, Miss?”

            “Certainly, yes.” Marianne said, standing. She indeed was a bit hungry. “Thank you…”

            “Eve.”

            “Eve,” Marianne smiled. “Is… the Colonel not back yet?” She felt strange, prying into his business as such. She had no right. “With my sister,” she added in an attempt to better things.

            “Not quite yet, no, Miss. They should be back in time for luncheon, in two hours or so.”

            She hadn’t realized so little time had passed. Two quarters of an hour did seem like an eternity when expecting someone’s company.

            “Thank you, Eve,” Marianne smiled again.

            “You may ring if you have need of anything else,” Eve said before leaving.

            Marianne sat to take her tea and eat the most delicious biscuits she had ever tasted. They were buttery and sweet, melting in her mouth. She admired the view to his garden as she ate, remembering the stroll they took there not a week ago with a smile on her lips. After her silent meal and musings, she was soon ready to return to her reading. She made it about a quarter of the way through it when Colonel Brandon and her sister arrived, and she quit the library to sit down for luncheon. Colonel Brandon was happy to have company and not eat alone, as was usual for him.

            After their meal, Elinor was decided to go back to the Parsonage and have a walk around the village. Marianne would have gone gladly, but the truth was she did not fancy sharing the Colonel’s attention. So between walking in the sun and possibly getting fatigued and ruining the walk for everyone, and staying in the cool library, she preferred the latter. Either way she would not be receiving the attention she coveted from the Colonel. So as he escorted Elinor outside, she excused herself to the library.

            She was tired of reading and not having a proper picture in her head of what it was she read. So she found a book on the geography of the Indies, more complete than Margaret’s Atlas, for in addition to maps, it had paintings of some of the landscapes and the wildlife. She was absorbed by it, analyzing every detail on every page, reading the fine print under the pictures, when Colonel Brandon walked in.

            “I hope I am not disturbing,” he said.

            Her gaze lifted quickly as her heart pounded so hard he could surely see it through her dress. “Not at all, Colonel,” she smiled, and that smile lit a fire in the Colonel’s chest, making his heart thump. He also worried she would notice.

            “I thought you were to escort my sister back to her future home.”

            “I…” _would rather be with you_ , “No, she now knows how to get there safely and my men are there, should she need aid. I… feel like I have neglected you. Forgive me.”

            She blushed and looked down at her hands with a shy smile.

            “Have you… found anything to keep you entertained?”

            “Yes. I was reading in the morning this book here,” she showed it to him, for it still sat beside her on the chaise longue, “And now I sought this other one to better illustrate what I have learned.” It was open to a page with paintings of the wildlife, and she could finally see what a tiger looked like next to an average man. It had made her recall the Colonel’s story and fear for his life as if it had happened just now. What would be of her life if he had died? If she had never met him? It had also made admiration spread hot in her chest. “Although nothing can compare to your stories of being there,” she said. “I believe you do still owe me a story of falling off an elephant Margaret seems to have heard.” She smiled up at him. “I really dislike that she knows more of your stories than I.” She let those last words slip unconsciously through her lips and blushed furiously once she realized they were said. There was naught she could do to correct herself.

            His being was assaulted with happiness and pride. Hope, of her having strong regard for him. He could not help but smile, a kind of smile she had not quite seen before on his features. He bore teeth. She smiled back at this sight, such a warm, contagious smile. She could not help it, despite her still present embarrassment.

            “We cannot have that, can we?” He uttered, and boldly sat beside her on the chaise longue without thinking to ask permission. She allowed it gladly.

            “I was invited to mount an elephant, to ride it,” he started, and she listened transfixed, admiring the smile that still partly adorned his features. “I did not wish to, for I am not sure the animal quite enjoys being made a mule all day long.”

            “But you went forward with it nonetheless?”

            He nodded once. “It would be considered rude by the locals for me not to accept.”

            “I see.” He could never be rude, she knew. Such a gentleman and a sweet-hearted man.

            “For one to mount an elephant, one needs to climb on its front right paw, you see.”

            “And is that safe?” She asked, appalled. “I cannot see how such a large animal would submit to this. We sometimes see trouble with horses!”  
            “Well, yes. They manage to train them to offer its leg for you to climb. Some hoist you up with their trunks. They are really quite docile, if treated right.”

            Marianne sniggered. “I still would have not the courage. I am afraid I would have to be considered rude. But forgive me, I am constantly interrupting your story.”

            “I enjoy hearing your opinion.” He smiled softly. “Anyhow, the animal is told to kneel down, and you are to step on its bent knee and hold its ear. You need to bend your own knee and swing your other leg around its neck. Which is what I did. However, I did it rather slowly, I gather, for the beast began to stand before I had properly mounted. Thus I was knocked over.”

            “Goodness! And how high was the fall?”

            “About three meters.”

            “Oh my! Did you hurt yourself?” Marianne asked, concerned.

            “Nothing serious. My body ached for a few days. I fell on my left shoulder, and it still hurts once in a while, to this day.” Marianne blushed as she remembered some rather unsavory comments she had made with regard to his age and aches. “But I have suffered worse,” he continued. “I find this is an enjoyable story. It is really rather nice that you should be worried, for Miss Margaret only laughed.” He smiled.

            She gave a bashful smile. “And… did you ever try again?”

            “Not that particular day, no. But I managed to do it properly a few other times.”

            There was a moment of silence between them, some sort of tension. It was, however, nice, amicable… heated, perhaps. She reached for the book she had read in the morning, embarrassed of what she felt inside, and handed it to him.

            “Pray, read some to me?  If you have the time, of course.”

            He did, of course, for almost an hour, before the maid called for him. Someone was at the sitting room. Marianne, of course, did not recognize the name.

            “I must see to this. Forgive me, Miss Marianne.” And he left her alone once again.

            She wandered the room restlessly, impatiently wishing to have him beside her again. But he did not return as quickly as she had hoped. Her legs took her to the hall, to try and hear where he could be, find him, but in her path she found the music room. She remembered it from the tour the former week, with the gorgeous pianoforte, a Broadwood Grand, lying in the middle of it. She could not fight the pull she felt, and sat at the instrument. It had been quite a while since she had had the opportunity to play. It was promised to her the former week, but time got the best of them. She hadn’t played at Sir John’s since before the trip to London. And in that city, she had not found the will to play too often. This instrument was superior to the ones at Barton and London. It was even superior to hers at Norland. She simply had to play it.

            That she did. As her fingers caressed the keys, playing the first song that came to her, that she knew by heart, her father’s favorite, Colonel Brandon was carried to the door by the sweet sound of her music. She needed only sing to make it perfect. He leaned on the doorframe and listened with his heart and soul until she was through. He remained silent in hopes a new song would begin, but she spotted him.

            “Forgive me, Colonel, for my impertinence,” she said, standing. “I should not have played without your consent. It is just I… could not resist such a lovely instrument and…”

            “Miss Marianne, please. It is no impertinence. When I said you were to feel at home, I meant it. I should have in fact led you here sooner, for such an excellent talent ought to be practiced and preserved. And I do… enjoy hearing you play, very much. Would you… do me the honor of playing another?”

            She flushed pink, but did as he requested. As she played the song and he stood by the door, listening intently, admiring her sweet features in the golden light of the sun that shone in, Elinor walked in the manor. She observed from the corridor as complete and utter love and admiration poured from the Colonel’s eyes towards Marianne, as it had that first time they met. Only now it was stronger, if it were even possible. She regretted having to speak as the song ended.

            “Marianne, dearest, we really ought to be going.”

            Marianne stood and walked away from the pianoforte, very much against her will, and both she and her sister thanked the Colonel and bid their goodbyes.

            “I will have music laid out for you next time, Miss Marianne. So you can further practice your wonderful gift,” he smiled, though shyly again. She wondered if she was the only one privy to his gorgeous full smile, and it warmed her heat to imagine she might be.

            As the carriage drove away, Marianne looked out the window at the beautiful manor they left behind and the charming man that stood before it.

            “Elinor, when do you think you will need to be back to check on your home?” She asked absently.

            Elinor smiled. “Well… let us see, dearest… I believe… I believe I may have to return as early as within a week. Would that… upset you?”

            “No, I believe not,” she said, still absently watching as Colonel Brandon walked into the manor.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for putting up with my slooooow burn. Hahaha  
> I have about 10 more chapters written after this, but it is not where I want to end it. So fingers crossed my muse will return.

            For the next month, these visits repeated themselves, once a week. The first one was once again chaperoned by Elinor, who found it incredibly hard to busy herself away from the manor for most of the day to allow the Colonel and Marianne some privacy, hoping their situation could move along quickly, as it seemed only the two of them did not allow themselves to fully notice how the other felt and what was truly happening. So for the next visits, Marianne was sent alone. Elinor spoke the truth, saying there was not much more that she could do without Edward. Marianne did go to Delaford, aiming to not be rude, but her nerves would overpower her along the way every time. She was only soothed, her insides settled, when she saw the Colonel’s gentle eyes, heard his molten chocolate-like voice and witnessed his smiles, which became more frequent and sometimes, she managed to bring about one of those absolutely gorgeous and full smiles, so rare.

            He would read to her, and they would discuss it when he did not have pressing duties. Even if he did, he would always make some time for her, if even only to have tea before she left. When she was alone, she would try to read, but her head often would run away from her in fantasies of cuddling up to him before the fire and having him declaim poetry in her ear.

            She would also play on his pianoforte, practice every day she was there, and he would listen from the hall as to not abash her, absolutely marveled by her sweet voice and amazing talent in playing. It also served to not let her notice his profound feelings for her, as he was certain they poured through his eyes every time he laid eyes on her, especially when playing. But there were moments where he could not control himself and walked in to watch her closely. She felt a bit embarrassed, but did quite enjoy his admiration. He at least admired her in some way, if not how she secretly wished he would.

            On some weeks, Colonel Brandon would go to Barton and pay his visits as well, making it twice – sometimes thrice, depending on how long his visit was – a week that they saw each other. They would take their walks and sit in the shade to read, and both their hearts would be overflowing with feelings unsaid.

            The time for the Ferrars’ wedding was finally upon them. Colonel Brandon offered to have the celebratory breakfast at Delaford, so they would be closer to home, but Mrs. Jennings and sir John would not have it. It must be held at Barton Park, they had so few opportunities to entertain as such. So three days prior to the wedding, Colonel Brandon made his way to Barton, to help however he could and to, of course, see Miss Marianne. He was to be groomsman, and was absolutely in raptures that, by chance, he had to be paired to Miss Marianne to walk down the aisle. It of course was not by chance in the slightest, but carefully planned by Elinor and the Dashwood matriarch.

            On his first day there, he hurried down to the Cottage upon arrival to see Miss Marianne. They set out on their habitual walk, with no books, just each other’s company and stimulating conversation. Marianne no longer took his arm on these walks, as she felt well and never again had dizzy spells. Colonel Brandon no longer offered, afraid of overstepping. Both, however, wished that her hand in the nook of his arm had still been necessary.

            It was close to teatime when they headed back to the cottage. Marianne led the way in only to see her mother and Elinor both standing in the parlor, Edward sitting quietly in a corner, as they discussed something with some urgency. Mrs. Dashwood held the post that had seemingly just arrived.

            “Is something the matter?” Marianne stepped forward asking, startling them both into silence, leaving Colonel Brandon close to the door to watch quietly, as Edward did.

            Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood exchanged looks, then looked at Marianne who undid her bonnet, and then at the Colonel, who stood in the hall holding his hat, for it was a bright day.

            “You’ve… you’ve had post, dear,” Mrs. Dashwood said finally, rummaging through the small stack in her hand to find it.

            “Me? Post? But whoever would have written…” Marianne stated as she took the missive from her mother’s hand. Mrs. Dashwood looked at Colonel Brandon apologetically, but he had already pieced it all together by then.

            Marianne’s speech was cut off as she stared down to the letter in her hands. It was Willoughby’s handwriting. She did not know what to make of it. What could this be about? What business could he still have with her? Surely he was still married. She had not heard of a Mrs. Willoughby dropping to her untimely death somewhere, though she had heard Sir John say the word in London, where he had paid a quick visit in the last fortnight, was she was with child. How would he dare to correspond with another? With her? After all he had put her through.

            Colonel Brandon was feeling very much uncomfortable, like a fool for having let himself believe he could stand a chance. Judging by the manner in which she stared at that sealed letter, the scoundrel still held her heart.

            “I should be going…” He started.

            When she heard the Colonel’s voice, she immediately found there was nothing that could be written in that letter that would interest her, and she wanted to be rid of it instantly. She tossed it into the fire, sealed, without a second thought, making it smoke, then she turned to the Colonel with a smile.

            “Won’t you join us for tea, Colonel?”

            He could not help but widen his eyes in surprise along with her mother and sister who exchanged astonished looks, but he quickly recovered, composing himself. Even Edward was amazed. He had by then been filled in about the situation with Willoughby of course, and was no fool to not notice how fond of Marianne the Colonel was, though her thoughts were a mystery to him, as all women’s were to most men. He could not help but smile at this significant event, which could mean good things to come for the Colonel, who was quickly becoming a good friend of his.

            “If it is not too much of a bother,” he answered, a shy smile spreading on his lips as he bowed slightly.

            “It is not bother at all,” Mrs. Dashwood said, calling Betsy and carrying on as if nothing had happened.

 

            Though her reaction to the letter seemed a good one, it still gnawed at him that evening in his rooms at the Park. It could have been done in anger, hate, and such strong feelings could only arise where there was still another just as strong… love. Misused and refused love. He needed to know for certain how she felt about Willoughby, before his heart and hope led him to something foolish to embarrass and hurt him, and even cause him to lose Miss Marianne’s friendship.

            Therefore, on the following day, he rode down to the Cottage alongside Edward, who was eager to see his bride the last day he could before they were required to stay out of each other’s sight for a full day. Edward noticed the Colonel’s contemplative gaze as they descended the path, their horses side by side.

            “Forgive me Colonel Brandon. I… I do not know if we are at a point in our friendship where it is not impertinent for me to say this, though I do like to consider you my friend. Do not look so gloom. I am quite convinced that if you were to continue doing what you are doing, you will win Miss Marianne’s heart shortly. If it is not yours already.” He smiled as Colonel Brandon looked at him, startled, not knowing what to say. “Come now, your secret is safe with me,” he grinned, “though I dare say it is only a secret to Marianne.”

            Colonel Brandon sighed. “I am acting like a young fool in love, am I not? And I am quite past the age of doing so.”

            “Nonsense. You will find you will act more the fool once she says yes. And I do wish you that happiness,” Edward said as he smiled and halted his horse, dismounting while Elinor came forward from the Cottage. Colonel Brandon wished another would come out of the Cottage to meet him, and envied his friend a bit. Little did he know that inside Marianne sat, wishing to run to him, but holding back in the name of propriety.

            Once he bid everyone hello and pleasantries were exchanged, they set out on a walk. Marianne carried a book Colonel Brandon had left with her the previous afternoon. He had an internal battle whether to broach this subject or not, but he could not help himself. He had to know.

            “Miss Marianne… I… I hope I am not being too impertinent… I just wish to know how you are feeling… with regards to the… letter you received yesterday.”

            “Oh.” She had not realized it was so obvious who it was from. But of course it was. “I feel quite all right. Truly. It has not affected me at all.”

            “Does it mean you are not… that is to say, you do not harbor any more…”

            “I do not feel anything for Mr. Willoughby, no. How could I, after being so ill-used? And after learning of his past behavior…” She paused. “It took me a while, much longer than it should, really, but I see now that he is an abominable human being, and never did love me, though he claimed to Lady Smith and to my sister that he did. Love is… selfless, I think, and never has such a selfish soul walked this earth. He is truly incapable of loving anyone save himself, I believe. And there is no possible subject that could interest me in that letter. Nor would I sink so low as to correspond with a married man,” she finished, agitated.

            Colonel Brandon smiled. So Willoughby was indeed out of her heart. But did that mean he could be accepted in it?

            “I am glad you are well, Miss Marianne. Very glad. And it pleases me to think I have… perhaps helped in some small way, providing… distraction in the form of studies.”

            She blushed as she looked up at him once they reached their preferred shade with a nice view of the cottage down below the hill. “You have indeed helped me very much, Colonel.” More than you can imagine or even know, she thought. “Thank you,” she said as she took his hand to sit on the grass next to the tree trunk. He had not the time to lay his coat down for her to sit, lost in his happiness.

            “There is no need for that, Colonel,” she said as he started to take the coat off, “the grass is quite comfortable,” she smiled and turned to find her place in the book. He reveled in the fact she was more comfortable being herself around him.

 

*****

            The next day consisted of Edward sitting in Barton Park as the preparations were underway, nervous as could be, apprehensive about the wedding. Colonel Brandon decided to forgo seeing Marianne that day to keep his friend and head of his Parish company. And try to keep him calm, along with Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, who did not quite help. But they did manage to get through the day without any major problems. Colonel Brandon was happy to help. He could only imagine how unnerving it would be to be in such a position, one day away from being wed to the woman one loved, yet unable to see or talk to her and have your heart soothed.

 

*****

 

            The next morning brought a Colonel Brandon who contemplated what to do in regard to his situation as he got dressed for the ceremony. He decided he would start to more actively court her, and that made his stomach roll up into his chest. He would begin by requesting to be the first and second on her dance card for the celebrations after the ceremony.

            He rode down to the Parish with Edward and could see from afar as she stood in the church’s vicinity, amidst a small gathering. He could not help but smile. She looked absolutely beautiful in a dress he had never seen. Mrs. Jennings had been kind enough to provide all the Dashwoods, especially the bride, with new dresses. Colonel Brandon assumed she stood there in waiting for Edward, so she could run to the Cottage, which was not so far, and warn the blushing bride she could make her way to her fate.

            He then saw a gentleman approach her. He was one of Edward’s acquaintances. He conversed with her, made her smile a few times. It was when Colonel Brandon realized how foolish he had been. Even if her heart was unburdened of Willoughby, there were other gentlemen in the world. More dashing, more of age with her than him. Such as the one who seemed to be trying to woo her at that very moment. She would no doubtedly prefer their attention. And she should have it, a young beautiful woman such as herself should not be attached to an old man as him. His spirits fell.

            As they arrived and exited the carriage, Miss Marianne smiled widely, then excused herself from the gentleman and dashed off. It was not long at all before Mrs. Dahswood came back, arranging everyone to go inside, guests to be seated and the line of groomsmen and bridesmaids to begin their entrance, one by one. Once the groom was inside, Miss Marianne came back with Elinor. Colonel Brandon stood last in line to enter the church, waiting for his pair, and was able to congratulate the bride and compliment her before walking in. Marianne took her position beside him, smiling, and his heart could not help but beat faster despite his realization of a few moments ago. He offered his arm and she took it gladly. To be arm in arm with him again… it made both their breathing a little heavier.

            “May I say, Miss Marianne, that you look beautiful today?” He uttered as they slowly approached their turn to enter the church.

            She looked up at him with bright eyes and involuntarily squeezed his arm in gratitude. It made his heart stop momentarily.

            “Colonel, there was a gentleman earlier insisting I dance with him in the celebrations…”

            His heart sank once more.

            “And I hope it will not displease you, nor that I was too bold in affirming to him that my first two dances were already engaged to you.” She smiled shyly. “It seems you will be forced to endure me for two dances due to my impertinence and foolish attempts in dissuading him. That is, if you have no other engagements and wish to help me not look the fool.”

            His heart sang at that moment, and he smiled unabashedly as she so enjoyed seeing. “I was indeed of a mind to secure you for a dance as I rode down.”

            “How lovely! Then I did not overstep so rudely. I am glad. Thank you, for helping a friend.”

            “I assume he secured the third dance, so I ask for your fourth as well. Or whatever next one is available, should there be any.”

            “Oh no. I informed him that due to my recent illness I might be too fatigued after two dances, so he desisted. I might however be persuaded otherwise, should one insist,” she smiled, feeling an undertone of fear that she was being too bold and forward, unwise and much like the older self she tried to banish, setting herself up for heartbreak. But he seemed to respond well, and respect her even if she was being unladylike.

            “I am afraid I must insist,” he smiled.

            “Very well.”

            It was finally their turn to enter the church and he did it with a light heart and light feet, wondering if he would ever do it again, and in the same company.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favorite chapter in this story. <3  
> In the end notes, there is a link that might be useful at one point in the middle of the chapter. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

            The ceremony was beautiful, and not even Fanny could have anything ill to say of the celebratory breakfast, though of course she would try. Not many attended, as expected. Lucy and Edward’s brother did not, nor did his mother. Only some acquaintances and neighbors from both Barton and Delaford that the lovely couple had gotten to know better did.

            Colonel Brandon was beyond delighted that Marianne was desirous to dance with him and did so time and time again. Sir John and Mrs. Jennings stared, bewildered and happy, for all the years they had known Colonel Brandon, not once had they seen him dance between the pair of them. Mrs. Jennings had only seen it once, actually, recently, in their stay in London. It was wonderful to see such a cheerful Colonel  and to think perhaps his fate had some happiness in store for him after all, and that it might be tied together with Miss Marianne’s, and soon.

            When they were not dancing, the Colonel and Marianne could often be seen sitting next to each other conversing, interrupted by the odd acquaintance or family member every once in a while. Her behavior filled his heart with hope. She was so unguarded, free, almost as she was with the scoundrel, only more contained for fear of being unwise. But she could not help it too much. She did not seem to mind or notice that people might comment she had not danced with any other gentleman, though most, Fanny especially, thought that was not due to a decision of hers, but to the fact that she had ruined her reputation and no gentleman would go near her. But they did not know Colonel Brandon’s heart. He had half a mind to propose to her right there, seize opportunity, her apparent newfound fondness of him. It was not appropriate, however. They would need to speak more privately, and he felt he should court her more, and be most certain of her feelings before imposing himself on her and possibly put his heart through the pain of rejection.

 

            A week went by after the wedding before he could pay a visit to Barton again. Marianne had grown anxious, wondering if perhaps she had been so very bold as to scare him away, disgusted by her inappropriate behavior, lack of manners and of shame.  He, however, had treated her no different during the festivities. And he had said, with truth in his eyes, that she could always be herself around him.

            He arrived at the end of that week though, bearing a beautiful bouquet, picked from his hothouse, she knew, for she had visited it when first in Delaford. She remembered with shame how she had disregarded his first offering of a bouquet to her, giving preference to Willoughby’s wild flowers. She knew now that no matter where he had picked the flowers, it was the heart and feeling with which one did it and offered them that counted. And she had a feeling Colonel Brandon’s heat was much more kind and true. She accepted the flowers with warm eyes and a kind smile, fetching a vase to place them upon the side table in the drawing room. It would be inappropriate to say, but she would later take them to her bedroom, so they could sleep beside her.

            They went on their walk and found a shade to sit under, as usual, a book at hand. But the lack of music, drink and fuss about them, and the air of romance a wedding provided, made them a bit shier of one another. Back to normalcy. Propriety.

           

            Her now routine visit to Delaford was but four days later. She, as usual, sat in his library, which she now found so comfortable, as if she were home, and after a few minutes – almost an hour really – of reading by herself, he finally came to join her. They sat at the small table which had only two chairs by the ample windows, opposite each other, and discussed what she had just read.

The door to the library was left open, and so they could hear steps coming down the hall. Before they could process it, or guess who it could be that the footman was to announce, Colonel Brandon saw it was not the footman or a maid at all that entered the room. It was Eliza, and in her arms, her son, Philip.

            “Cousin Brandon,” she started to say cheerfully before actually entering the room. He stood, a worried countenance about him. Eliza, of course, had free access to his house and was always welcome there. He was, however, worried about the effect meeting her and Willoughby’s son, and with no notice, would have on Miss Marianne.

            “Forgive me, cousin, I did not know you had company,” she said, extremely embarrassed and looking to the floor a moment after she laid eyes on Marianne. She knew of her own status in the world now, and did not wish to cause her sweet cousin any shame.

            “It is quite all right, Eliza.”

            “It’s just… we hadn’t seen you in days, I thought you might enjoy…”

The Colonel had indeed been away on business since his visit to Barton.

“Eliza, I would like you to meet Miss Marianne Dashwood,” Colonel Brandon interrupted her.

Marianne had been staring at her and her son, the image of his father, ever since they walked in. She could not name what she felt. It was as if rocks weighed her stomach down to the floor. Colonel Brandon watched her, worry still etched on his face. Would she recall her love for the scoundrel? He did not wish for her to feel sorrow. He feared she would not wish to return to his house after this.

“Miss Marianne… this is Miss Eliza Williams.”

She looked to him and his warm hazel eyes made her warm inside. She could not have him thinking Willoughby still had any effect on her. He did not, in truth, though she thought she would feel something similar to this at the sight of him again. But it was not love. No. She now… loved another.

A smile finally came to her lips. “Miss Williams, lovely to meet you,” she said.

Eliza curtsied, still holding the child, still embarrassed.

“And who is this young man?” Marianne asked and gently rubbed the child’s belly, making him giggle.

“This is Philip,” Eliza answered. She knew of Marianne’s history with Willoughby. She knew of her cousin’s regard for Marianne, as he would sometimes talk to her, having no one else to confide in and not being able to fully contain all the love that wished to burst from his chest for Marianne Dashwood. All the more reason for Eliza’s embarrassment and fear of ruining something important to her cousin.

Philip reached his arms out to the Colonel, who took him from his mother’s arms with a sweet smile on his lips. Marianne’s heart beat faster in her chest for him.

“It is lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss Marianne. Do forgive my intrusion, and I hope the Delaford library is fulfilling your thirst for knowledge,” she smiled shyly.

“Oh yes, it is quite a remarkable library.” Marianne said still smiling. She stole glances at the Colonel cooing the little boy, smiling, tickling his tummy.

“I should go and leave you to your studies,” Eliza said a few moments later, as she took the boy from the Colonel’s arm. It warmed Marianne’s heart to see him holding a child, so sweet, so good with him. Her mind wondered to pictures of him holding his own children… _their_ children.

“I still have some chores to tend to. I just wished to see if you were well, cousin.” She headed for the door. “Have a good day!” She bid.

“May I call on you this evening?” Colonel Brandon inquired.

“Certainly, yes. Whenever you wish to. Good bye, Miss Marianne.” And she was gone.

Colonel Brandon set his gaze upon Marianne. “I apologize. I did not know she would come today.” He paused. “Seeing… her son must not have been easy for you.”

“I am well. Truly.” Marianne smiled. “I have told you, Colonel, Willoughby holds no power over me any longer.” She sat down again, not quite looking at him. “Eliza seems… a very sweet girl.”

“She is,” he sat down as well.

There was a moment of silence. Then Marianne began. “You have never… I do not know… what happened, between yourself and her mother. If I may ask?”

Colonel Brandon looked very grave for a moment, out to his back garden.

“Forgive me, I overstep. I have no right to ask,” Marianne said, blushing red, astonished at her foolishness. She really could not help herself at times.

Colonel Brandon placed his hands on the table and began to fidget with them as he spoke, surprising her. She really did not think he would be open to sharing such history.

“She was my father’s ward. A distant cousin. We were raised together from a very young age, and as my mother had passed and… my temper and spirits did not match that of my father’s, nor that of my brother and sister, it was natural that I spent more time with her.”

Marianne listened intently and nodded.

“When we were of the age of sixteen, I finally realized I felt much more than I ought to, that I did indeed… love her. As should be expected from a young and free spirit, I had the courage and boldness to declare this to her, and was met with the felicity of discovering it was, in fact, a requited feeling.”

Colonel Brandon looked fixedly at his hands, which still played with each other on the table as Marianne’s heart beat stronger in what seemed like a bit of jealousy, and sorrow that she could not have been his first and true love, that he could not have been happy, as she also hadn’t been with her first – though she now did not think it to be true – love, and most likely would not be with her second, truer one.

“Though I had no profession and no means to earn us a living, I proposed right there, with the promise of doing the possible and impossible to allow us to marry soon.”

Colonel Brandon was becoming very distressed in his memories, Marianne noticed, and she wished to stop him from telling such story. But she also wished, despite her irrational jealousy, to know more of him, somehow be closer to him. So she said nothing.

“She accepted. And I worked towards being a barrister, the only worry in my mind that of breaking the news to my father. But I thought – wrongly – that despite his harsh ways, he would have his children’s and his ward’s best interest at heart, and that once I had a respectable profession and he knew we were in love, he would allow it. To my character he certainly must know there were no objections, and I would therefore be considered a good match for Eliza.”

He paused and sighed.

“If… I do not wish to distress you, Colonel. If you do not wish to continue, pray stop and let us forget I ever demanded such a task of you,” she finally said, her love and despair of seeing him in such a state, even holding back tears, she thought, speaking louder than curiosity or need of being closer to him. She thought how she would feel if asked to retell what happened with Willoughby and herself a few months back, when the wound was still fresh, and her heart not soothed by the regard it now held for the Colonel. Even now she would be agitated, she imagined. It was indeed a cruel thing she had asked of him.

“Forgive me, Miss Marianne. I have never… told this story, not in such details. Not even to Eliza. Reliving it is more troublesome than I had anticipated. But I feel it would do me good to tell it, and there could be no better person to hear it, should you allow me to continue.”

Marianne nodded, a small smile etched on her lips as warmth spread through her chest at the thought he could trust her so. To think she considered him unfeeling not too long ago…. But if given the chance, he was more open than half the men in England. Damn her foolish assumption.

“We remained secretly engaged for two years, seeing each other only when I came home from Cambridge, and still remained deeply in love. One day, while I was away, I received a letter from her, stating that my father was forcing her to accept my brother in marriage.” Marianne gasped. After a moment of silence and gathering his thoughts and emotions, he continued. “Eliza had some money to her name, you see, and my father had always run the estate irresponsibly, drinking or gambling away most of the money. His debts were unbearable. I saw right through him, his true intentions. He had the solution at home, and he need only marry her to his heir. Eliza, poor innocent soul, had told him of our arrangement to explain her refusal, and in the hopes he would be glad she was to marry one of his sons, at least. But for her impertinence he locked her in her room, starving her. She had only managed to get a letter to me because her maid took pity on her and risked herself in taking it to the post.”

Marianne had tears in her eyes, just imagining the angst of going through such a thing.

“Knowing Eliza would rather starve than give into the situation, I rushed home to try and resolve it somehow, confronting my father. But I arrived too late. My father ruled with an iron fist, and convinced the head of the parish to marry them in a hurry, physically forcing her down the aisle and absolutely disregarding her consent. I have heard from staff here that he even threatened to kill me if she were to refuse. He need only one son and heir anyway. When I arrived here, she was already in her wedding trip, and my father had bought me a commission in the army to assure I would never be in the way. I left for the Indies without the chance to bid her goodbye.”

Marianne could not help but whimper. He still looked down at his hands.

“I believe that had my brother treated her as he should, she would eventually comply to her fate, as should I, and even be happy. My brother however, perhaps due to his wounded ego of knowing she had preferred me, mistreated her and paid her no mind, following my in father’s footsteps of gamble and drink and unrespectable women. In despair and need of love, she fell into the arms of the first man that spoke sweet words to her, and fell into disgrace. My brother divorced her for it. She passed from man to man, and I only came to learn of this when my brother died and I was called to take charge of the estate. I could not bear to exchange letters with my brother or father, nor ask of her. The only news I received from home in that time in the Indies was a letter informing my father had died, and I could feel no sorrow for that. I did regret not writing, deeply, for perhaps I could have found her sooner, knowing of her situation, and helped her. Saved her. But I only found her at death’s door, with a daughter she begged me to care for, and not even that I could do properly.”

He exhaled deeply, and Marianne’s hand covered his on the table, caressing it. She did not register what she was doing, but he did, his heart pounding in his chest, spreading warmth all through his body.

“You are doing just that. I am sure she would be very grateful to you for what you do for her daughter. Only Willoughby can be blamed for what happened to her in Bath.”

He was afraid to breathe, to move, and scare her hand away from caressing the back of his. She still did so, absently. It soothed him. He was glad to have confided in her. After a few moments of silence, she dared ask “And… have you… loved again, after being through such hardships?”

His being was assaulted by courage, and he turned the hand under hers to hold it, as his other hand covered hers. “Yes,” he answered looking into her eyes. It was when she noticed what she had been doing.

            There was a brief moment of silence in which he collected his thoughts to tell her all she sparked in his being. She, in turn, panicked. She could see he was to say something, things she had only dreamed of hearing. Her breathing was shallow. And her reaction amidst such expectation and overwhelming expectation was to pull away and stand.

            “Forgive me, Colonel, I believe my sister awaits me for tea and I am late.”  She walked out, leaving the Colonel heartbroken.

            She was not halfway to the parsonage when she regretted her actions deeply. Such foolishness! She might have misinterpreted him, most likely did, and ended up being rude to such an extent… And if she had not misread his actions… the slight was graver, especially because she would have rejoiced in hearing such words from him! She loved him. She did. And to have that feeling corresponded… truthfully… how wonderful it must feel! But now, because of foolishness and unfounded fear, she had certainly ruined it all.

            Colonel Brandon shed a few tears before rising from his chair. He had been too bold, too quickly, and now all hope was gone. She had rushed out without even practicing the pianoforte, which he so enjoyed hearing. He wondered if he would ever hear it again, since from her sister’s company she would quit Delaford and surely never wish to return. Not after such forwardness from him.

            He went into the music room to play, for it had always served to soothe him. He sat at the instrument and poured his soul onto the ivories, playing a composition by Johann Pachelbel. Marianne walked in and leaned on the doorframe as he began. He did not notice she was there, so focused he was.

            If there was any piece of Marianne’s heart that did not love the Colonel, it certainly succumbed to his domain as she heard him play such a sweet, sad, yet soothing song with such passion and such mastery. She had never heard him play before, and she hoped she would often from then on. Tears came to her eyes. As he finished the song, she could not help but applaud, and he, startled, stood.

            “That was beautiful, Colonel! Pray excuse my intrusion, but you play… magnificently well,” said Marianne with crimson cheeks, from rushing back to the house, from crying, from rubbing away the tears.

            “Miss Marianne… I thought you would be at the parsonage,” he said stiffly. It was due to her horrible decision not ten minutes ago, she knew, that he returned to his stiff and grave self. He had not been so with her in quite a while. He did not mean to be rude, never to her, but he must shield his heart. She did not know what to do to fix her mistake.

            “I was mistaken. So… very mistaken. I promised I was not to disturb Elinor until she was wed for at least a fortnight. I… I really did not mean to interrupt you or be rude in anyway. It was just my impulse born of my wrong recalling of being late.”

            It was the best she could do. He just nodded once and smiled shyly. She stepped forward, towards the vicinity of the instrument, to a chair from which she would have perfect view of his hands on the keys and his profile while playing, and he just stood there by the instrument.

            “Would you like to practice?” He asked, stepping away from the bench.

            “No, no. I would… like to hear you play more, if it is not too much to ask.” Her heart was heavy as if it were being constricted. She wished him to return to the unguarded man he was minutes ago, to continue what he was to say. If it weren’t for her foolishness, heaven only knew what they would be to each other at this moment.

            Colonel Brandon was glad she had returned, it must mean something good, but his courage had deflated. The moment was gone. But he must test her openness, if her… friendship and regard towards him remained unchanged, as he had perceived them before.

            “Only if… you do me the honor of accompanying me with your singing,” he smiled, less timidly.

            “Would I know what you are to play?”

            “I believe so.”

            He began to play and it was the song he had first heard her play, in Barton, when his heart opened so completely to her. She smiled and sang as he played. It was hard for both to keep focus on what they did, for each wanted to observe and admire the other.

 

_Rest sad eyes_

_Melt not in weeping_

_While she lies sleeping_

 

            The song ended and there was a moment of silence.

            “I did not know you owned this piece. I looked for it amongst the music you so kindly lent me and could not find it. I wished to practice it perfectly, as by heart I only know pieces of the melody”

            “I do not own it. I must indeed acquire it. It is so beautiful.”

            “If you do not own it then how can you play it so perfectly?”

            “I … learned upon hearing you play.”

            “I have not played it so often, have I?”

            In his mind, it played every day.

            The footman came to the door. “Excuse me, Mr. Brandon, the lady’s carriage awaits.”

            They had fixed a time with the coachman, as to assure she never left to travel in the dark.

            “Well, goodbye, Colonel. Thank you for your kind hospitality, and pray forgive any faults I have committed. I… I hope to see you again, very soon.” She had sincerity in her eyes and a sweet smile. Colonel Brandon’s heart dared beat in hope again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song the Colonel was playing as Marianne returned: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wny1ojJli8k


	18. Chapter 18

Colonel Brandon sent word to Barton Cottage during the following days to warn that he would not be able to call when they had next agreed upon, for some business held him back at Delaford, where he was expecting a few gentlemen to call and was expected to lead them elsewhere later in the day. This was all addressed to Mrs. Dashwood, of course, as propriety demanded, though the reason of his visits lie someplace else.

            Mrs. Dashwood read this to her daughter, and anxiety began to consume said daughter. She wondered if those were not all excuses due to the way she had acted when she last was there, abandoning him when it seemed he had something of importance to say. She would not rest until she saw him again and ascertained all was well, that he did not despise her and renounce their friendship even if… even if he was not to say whatever he was to say that day, ever again. So she pleaded with her mother that she write back asking if it was too much trouble if Marianne were to go to Delaford. She was to write that Elinor had invited her sister for a brief visit of two days, as a test before she received the rest of the party at Barton and other guests, and that while Elinor and Edward went about their chores for the day, Marianne could hide quietly in the manor library reading his magnificent collection, and if and when needed, she would show herself out, back to the parsonage to be out of his way. That would at least show him she still had interest in his friendship.

            None of this, of course, had been arranged with Elinor. A letter would have to be sent to her as well. Though Marianne had not told her mother the reason for this sudden need to see the Delaford library at any cost, even that of making up schemes, Mrs. Dashwood could very well guess, and was pretty sure it would not hurt a soul. On the contraire, it might make at least two souls very happy indeed. So she smiled as she wrote to Colonel Brandon at her daughter’s request, and Marianne sat beside her on the dinner table to write to her sister.

            Colonel Brandon readily accepted, as did Elinor, sharing her mother’s beliefs even though they were not expressed to her. The carriage was sent for Marianne on the agreed date.

            She arrived at Delaford with her nerves twisted up in knots, confused as to what it was she felt, could feel, should feel, what it was that would happen, what she should say or do. Had she imagined the whole thing? Or was he to… confess something? She had acted horribly either way and was not sure how to redeem herself properly without making a fool of either of them.

            He was waiting for her at the sweep, very unsure himself of what had happened and of what it meant. Of what should be done next. But he now found he could not live in uncertainty such as that. He had been too close to her, had known her thoughts and spirit and sweetness too deeply, and felt that he could be corresponded in his affections too many times to go on living without the certainty either way. He could not live on the edge of happiness any longer. He needed more. He needed it all.

            So he would look for more signs and make up his mind by the time she rode away, the next day. And it would be all settled, for better or worse, by the week’s end. His heart thudded as if in his throat with that prospect.

            Colonel Brandon helped Marianne out of the carriage, the touch of her hand for that brief moment enough to calm his heart and yet set it on fire. He basked in the warmth of her smile, which was so open and sweet, he thought it a definite good sign. He smiled back, bearing his teeth, and she still thought it the most beautiful and contagious sight, and was very proud that he seemed to have that only for her, for she never had seen it around others.

            “Colonel Brandon,” she greeted him.

            “Miss Dashwood,” he said, a smile still assaulting his features. “I thought we could have a different activity on this fine morning, than being cooped up in the library.”

            “Oh?”

            “Do you… enjoy riding?”

            She smiled. “Certainly. I am not as proficient as my sister, but I did enjoy it. I must say though, I have not ridden since I lived in Norland. I do not wish to make a fool of myself.”

            “Nonsense. I will be there, should you need assistance. Would you accompany me, Miss Dashwood?” He offered his arm.

            She smiled shyly and took it. “Yes, certainly.”

            They walked to the stables, both thinking that their interactions thus far were very friendly and indicative of good things, hearts overflowing in joy.

            At the stables, the stable hand knew to prepare the Colonel’s preferred horse and hurried to it. As he did, Colonel Brandon showed Marianne a beautiful, snowy white mare.

            “I thought you might ride her,” he said as she caressed the horse’s nose, amazed, and the Colonel offered her a carrot to feed the mare. She did, and then continued to caress her very tenderly.

            “She is beautiful! What is her name?”

            “I thought perhaps… you could name her.” Marianne looked at him a bit puzzled. “And she could… be yours,” he continued. Marianne now looked astonished, jaw slightly open as she stared at the Colonel, still holding the horse’s reigns.

            “She would be kept here, of course, for you to ride whenever you come to call… on your sister. And if you ever should… feel the need to come claim her, she would be yours to take with you wherever you may choose.”

            As she still looked at him in shock, it seemed, Colonel Brandon tried to remedy the situation. Perhaps he had overstepped. “Your sister has a mare kept here as well, as I understand she enjoys riding very much. It would serve for you to accompany her. Should you accept.” He tried a shy smile.

            She remembered briefly the horse Willoughby had offered her, but it did not even register. This felt… different. Better. More meaningful somehow. Colonel Brandon did not offer it to show off his riches, he just genuinely wished to… please her. She could cry.

            “Colonel, this is too generous an offer, I could not… It would be too… I… I really do not know what to say,” she said timidly, laughing gently due to her nerves.

            It was a good sign she had not refused right away and brusquely. Courage swelled in the Colonel’s chest.

            “Please say you will accept. I would be most pleased if I could offer you this. If it truly pleases your heart, that is. And your sister surely would enjoy having a companion to ride with her.”

            “I… yes, I would love to have a horse. And such a beautiful one. But I do not wish to impose…”

            “It is settled then. Please inform me and my stable hand what we should call her, so she can be well cared for in your absence,” he smiled.

            She looked back at the horse, caressing it and blushing furiously. “I believe… Guinevere.”

            “Lovely,” he smiled.

            The stable hand pulled her out of the bay and Colonel Brandon began to saddle her for the lady to ride. She thought it sweet that even though he had a man to do it, he knew how to saddle the horse himself with no help, and chose to do it for her. When he was finished, he held the horse so she could mount it. She looked at him, and at the mare apprehensively.

            “It really has been a long time…”

            He let the reigns of the mare go and she stayed in place anyway. A nice, tamed mare.

            “May I… help?” He asked timidly.

            “Yes,” she answered without actually thinking of what that would entail.

            His hands were suddenly encompassing her waist and she could not help but gasp at such an intimate touch. He lifted her to the horse and her heart thumped in her chest, feelings that never before had been roused in her being filled her. She did not quite know what they were, but she enjoyed them. And they served to assure her she indeed loved him, unlike she had ever loved someone. Unlike she had loved Willoughby.

            Colonel Brandon mounted his horse and off he rode, she in tow, trying to control the things that stirred up inside her, made worse by the fact she now noticed his movement on his horse, how strong his legs looked, his arms as they held the reigns. All in addition to his sweetness, his contagious smile, his tender hazel eyes. She found herself wishing more and more to know what it was she interrupted him from saying that day, and hating herself for it.

            They rode all over Delaford and she saw some corners of it she had yet to see. The fields, the stream, the dovecote and the ponds. His company and conversation, as always, the most pleasurable. But their ride was abruptly ended as one of his men rode in a hurry towards them, warning he had company up at the manor.

            “I am afraid I must leave you, Miss Marianne. But please, feel free to continue your ride. We are close to the Parsonage, perhaps you can call upon Mrs. Ferrars to accompany you, as I have taken up too much of your time and have not allowed you to see the true receiver of your visit.” It was true, she remembered, she hadn’t even warned Elinor she had arrived. How forgetful of her! But she did have good reason. She blushed.

            “I leave you with no worry burdening my heart, certain that you are an excellent rider and shall need none of my assistance,” he continued. “Have a good day,” he smiled and turned his horse to gallop away.

            There was still time before luncheon, so Marianne called on Elinor to show her the horse, certain that this time there would be no objections on her part, since she had one herself. They walked back to the stables on foot, Marianne holding the reigns to Guinevere, and Elinor found a mount of her own to have some brief exercise with her sister before luncheon.

            “Is not Colonel Brandon a good friend, Elinor?” Marianne couldn’t help but comment, still astonished at his kindness. “So kind as to give us each a horse, only so we can have the benefit of riding in each other’s company.”

            Elinor smiled. “He is a kind soul. But I do believe there was more to this gift than that and mere friendship, my dearest. It is not solely so you can ride with me he gave you a horse.”

            “Whatever do you mean, Elinor?” She asked a little defiantly.

            “I do have the privilege of riding whenever I choose. But a mare was not bought especially for me, nor did I have a choice in her name,” she smiled. “I was merely offered the opportunity of choosing one of his existing rides to call my own whenever I chose to exercise in such a manner.”

            Marianne blushed. “But, but… why… then what does it mean?” Excitement stirred up in her belly.

            “Oh dearest. Why is it that you plotted this little scheme just to see him?” A smirk came across her sister’s face.

            “Elinor! I wished to see you, my dear sister! I do enjoy reading at his library. But that was a mere bonus. And perhaps I had a bit of worry as to what he might think of me, because I did behave poorly when last I was here…”

Elinor interrupted Marianne’s attempts at a justification. “I do hope you realize very soon what it means. And that it pleases you to know such things,” Elinor smiled. “Now come, we must return the horses to the stables so we can go have luncheon.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! They make my day. Keep them coming, please!

Colonel Brandon’s business had kept him for the rest of the day. And Marianne only grew more anxious with Elinor’s observation, wishing more than anything to see him. Yet, she managed to keep Elinor company at the Parsonage and help with some of her chores, trying to distract her own mind and settle her heart. But her attention could not be held long by anything Elinor, and later, at dinner time, Edward said. Her mind and heart always drifted up to the manor and to what the Colonel might be doing, thinking, feeling.

            On the following day, the Ferrars and Marianne were invited to luncheon at the manor, but only Elinor could attend, along with Marianne of course, for Edward was away on Parish matters. After a lovely meal, Elinor left to her chores. It had been settled beforehand that Marianne would leave on this day, late afternoon as she usually did when coming to Delaford, and so Marianne promised she would have tea with Elinor before leaving.

            Colonel Brandon said Marianne could make herself comfortable in the library. He had to descend to the kitchens and hand out some instructions, and then had a brief letter to write in his study.

            So Marianne went into the library and roamed, looking at the shelves and trying to decide what she was to read. But she could not care less about what was read, as long as she could talk it over with the Colonel. It was the best part, made better still if he could be the one to read to her. As she roamed and traced her fingers on the spines of the books, her attention befell on the wooden boxes that lay on the large table behind the sofa. She never did figure out what was in them. Her tracing fingers turned to them, wondering, thinking to open them, when Colonel Brandon walked in.

            She jumped back, startled.

            “Miss Marianne,” he smiled shyly. “Forgive me for startling you.”

            “Oh, no, I was just… I’ve often wondered what these boxes contain. But I did not mean to be impertinent.”

            His smiled broadened. “You could never.” He picked up the boxes and placed them in the middle of the table, side by side, yet still closed. “Do you recall when we helped Miss Margaret with her puzzle?”

            “Yes, of course,” she smiled.

            “Though it is considered only as a means for teaching children, I very much enjoy puzzles. Fitting the pieces together, for fun, in spare time. So I had one made, more complex than those for children, to fill some slow and lonely days.” He had had much of those in his years, unfortunately. Sleepless nights as well. He opened a box to show the wooden pieces, hundreds of them.

            “How merry! I too enjoyed them as a child, but never did find another opportunity to build them.”

            “Would you like to now?”

            “Could we?” She smiled.

            “Certainly. This one forms a painting of the Lakes. I had a painting of the region commissioned, for I went there with my parents one summer. It was the first trip I ever made. And the last one with my mother. This other one,” he pointed to the closed box, “my sister sent to me, from France. It forms the view of the Chateau de Versailles. Which would you prefer?”

            “The one of the Lakes, I believe,” she smiled.

            He put the other box back in its corner and poured the chosen one’s contents upon the table, spreading them out. He then pulled the chair out for her, and she sat down with a smile as he pushed it in. He then retrieved one of the chairs at the small table by the window, and placed it beside her for him to sit.

            They worked beautifully together. They quickly found the pieces that completed one another, as if they were of one mind, and they needed not talk to have a good portion of the puzzle completed in the three quarters of an hour they sat there undisturbed. Both stole glances at one another and smiled as they flushed, but never did their eyes meet, for when one was looking, the other focused – or pretended to do so – on the pieces and their work.

            Colonel Brandon sat close to her, as close as he did when they were sat on the grass beneath tree to read, always at a very respectable distance. Still, she was in arm’s reach, and he had to exert much dominance over his wishes to reach out and hold her. Their hands, reaching for wooden pieces, coming so close to each other’s yet never touching, did not help. He felt giddy, that she had not been repelled by his gift, the mare, and had even accepted it. He felt that was a door that opened, and that he could perhaps even achieve his heart’s desire. So he wished to touch her, caress her cheek, feel her warmth.

            She too felt like she floated on air somehow. That he had been so kind as to give her such a gift! And liberty to see the horse and take it whenever she pleased. She did not wish to ever take it from there, no, and yet, she wished to be able to ride her every day. His gesture showed, in the very least, that he did not resent her attitude from their previous encounter. It might even… show more. No, she would not delude herself. Willoughby had given her a horse as well, and it had meant nothing as she had thought it did. Of course he was selfish, so different form the Colonel… yet the Colonel could mean only friendship. But Elinor had said… and he himself had said he loved again after his Eliza… could it be? These conflicts rose in her head as she found the pieces which fit perfectly into his.

            An early tea, just something to sweeten the lips after luncheon really, was brought with those buttery, sweet biscuits Marianne so adored, and the tray was left, at the Colonel’s request, next to them. There was still a small space on the table, for they occupied mostly one end, and the few books and sculptures that adorned it took up but one third of its width. He served her tea, as the tray was next to him, and also offered the plate with biscuits. She gladly took one, and as she bit into it, she moaned softly. He looked at her with a tender half smile and she quickly realized what she had done.

            “Forgive me,” she said abashed. “I just never tasted such delicious biscuits. I even find myself craving them at times.”

            He smiled and offered her another. She took one, timidly.

            “Mrs. Miller’s specialty. She must be the cook at Delaford for five and twenty years now. I very much enjoy these biscuits as well, and have for most of my life.”

            “And… would Mrs. Miller be willing to share a receipt for it?” She smiled. “It would be merry to try and bake it at Barton.”

            “She might be, yes. But I do not know if I should let her.” He smiled shyly as he reached for a piece and found its place on their forming picture. She looked at him, puzzled, afraid to ask what she had said that was not pleasing. He looked at her again, still smiling. “If you could only eat such biscuits here, and you crave them, it gives you reason to come back.”

            She flushed crimson and looked down at the table searching for a piece. It took her a few moments, but she finally found the courage to say, though not very loud and in a shaky voice “I believe… I could find a few other reasons to come back.”                      Marianne did not look to him for his reaction. She would just pretend she had not said a word. She just looked at the table nervously and finally found a piece of the puzzle she could busy herself with. She reached for it. As did he. Not coincidently, though. Their hands touched, and she did not retrieve hers instantly. They lingered in the moment, feeling each other’s warm skin and the jolts of lightening that seemed to run through them for what seemed like long minutes, though it was but one moment.

            The fact that she had not shied away from his unexpected touch, along with her sweet, shy words, had given him the last ounce of courage and determination he needed. He took her hand completely into his, and she did not fight it, unlike last time.

            One of his hands, so large, so soft, held hers beneath it. The other came to cover her small hands that had turned cold in nerves, it seemed. Her hand disappeared into his, yet they fit perfectly together. She looked at them for a moment, their hands, and she felt so safe. She need not run, though her nerves and a tiny bit of fear of what would come boiled in her and made her feet tempted to do so.

            As she looked at his large strong hands on hers, she felt warmth spread through her chest, and wished she could be protected as such by those hands at all times. She then looked to his tender, hazel-green eyes, and there she could sit forever. Her cheeks burned as her mind rushed trying to figure out what was happening, yet time seemed to stand still somehow.

            “Marianne,” he started, his voice a low soothing rumble while his heart thumped as the hooves of a thousand running horses. “I had been numb, for most of my life, for many reasons, most of which you have been privy to. Yet, I have never felt so alive as I have since the moment I first laid eyes on you. You have made me feel things I had thought I could never again feel. You have brought my heart back to life with your sweet smiles, your most talented hands, your fierceness and determination, your intelligent mind and your unquestionable beauty. You have made it beat stronger than it ever has. And this heart will be forever yours, if you will have it. I lay it at your feet, for you to do with as you please, as you have been its mistress for a long while now. I lay my fortune, this estate, everything I own at your feet. Everything I am, it is yours, for it means nothing without you. I love you, Marianne Dashwood, with all that I am, body, mind and soul, and I ask, humbly, if you would make me the happiest man on this Earth and do me the honor of being my wife.”

            Marianne gasped, and her other hand came to clasp her mouth involuntarily. She was left with no reaction as silent tears started to fill her eyes.

            “Know that no matter what your answer is, I will for always be your humble servant, for there is no other woman on this Earth that could have such claims to me, I am sure. So everything I own and am will remain at your disposal for as long as I draw breath.”

            She wished to burst out crying at such beautiful words, and the color that had faded from her features with his sudden proposal returned full force while tears threatened to fall.

            The maid then knocked on the door and entered, Colonel Brandon quickly releasing Marianne’s hand. She announced that his guests had arrived, more that were expected to treat business with him. He stood, his eyes never leaving Marianne’s all the time the maid talked. He then addressed his beloved.

            “I shall not rush your decision. Take as long as you need.” He bowed and felt most sorry he must leave her.

            He had no mind to focus on business and just went through the motions as he thought of Marianne, her awestruck features as he poured his heart out, but never a look that made his heart seem unwelcome, his words seem unwanted. The angst of having to leave her there and not obtain a response. He hoped she would burst through the drawing room doors and beg for a moment of his time, away from the men that there talked and had drinks. But they did not linger long. He had to accompany them to a neighboring town to conduct their business. He would be back that day still, it was not a long ride. Perhaps soon enough to see Marianne there. That is, if she chose not to run and evade his proposal in a definite manner, refusing to call again or receive him at Barton. His heart was heavy as he rode to his destination, yet light that he had finally shared all he felt, that it was no secret any longer.

            Marianne drew breath again as he exited the library. Such tender, heartfelt words! More than she had ever dreamt of hearing, though she was not now certain she deserved to hear them from such a kind and true gentleman since she tarnished her reputation. She burst into tears, her heart pounding heavily in her chest, so much love and excitement, fear and doubt, all churning in her at that moment. She paced the room, thinking. She knew not what to do. What was proper for her to do. The only certainty she had was that she loved him, that she did, and that she would never wish to see him hurt. Nor would she bare living life without his constant company. She had thought it would be unbearable to never see or speak to Willoughby again, but what did her foolish heart know of such things months ago? Close to nothing. That feeling was naught compared to the angst she felt at the thought of having to refuse the Colonel as not to tarnish his good name. But if he felt no shame, and wished her to be his wife…

            When Colonel Brandon returned, the sun already faded on the horizon. She would certainly no longer be there, but he could not help bursting in and rushing to look for her. No sign in the library but for the puzzle they had being putting together, still unfinished on the table, the many pieces they had not the time to add to the half of the picture they managed to assemble still scattered on the table. There was nowhere else she could be but home, at Barton, so he headed to his study and sat on his desk, exhaling deeply and contemplating the fire that crackled in the hearth already, trying to focus on the business he had made so he could make notes of it. But he was only able to relive his moments with Marianne and wonder how he was to see her again, when would be a good time to call without pressuring her to answer.

            He noticed an ink bottle out of place on the desk, in the middle of it, holding a folded piece of paper underneath. He took it in his hands and immediately recognized Marianne’s handwriting, from the few times he had helped her and Margaret with their French lessons. His stomach churned in his chest cavity and his heart beat in his throat as he slowly unfolded it to read. He took a deep breath.

 

            _Colonel Brandon,_

_After having waited for a possibility to speak to you, having gone to the Parsonage for tea and returned to still not find you, I took the liberty of entering your study and finding a quill and paper I could make use of. I hope you will forgive me for such an intrusion._

_I write this hoping at any moment you will walk in so I can say what I wish to say directly to you. I believe it would be easier. Or perhaps it would be harder. I think it would be proper, though._

_Never would I have imagined being worthy of hearing such beautiful words and feeling professed to me, and by a gentleman such as yourself. I do not have the words to properly express all I feel. I just wish to tell you that I regret not being able to say that I too noticed your worth on the moment we were first introduced. It should have been so, weren’t I so foolish. But I have since become less foolish, and have been able to appreciate your many qualities, and I can say with certainty that my regard for you has_ _indeed grown._

_I find I have stalled, waiting for your return, and now it is too late for me to return to Barton. I shall spend the night at the Parsonage, and I hope to see you on the morrow to properly speak to you and give you my answer. I have rambled, and only leave you this ill written letter so you will know to expect me and know that I greatly appreciate your words and have given them much thought. And though I was to say more here, I have decided it is definitely best to say what I have to say in person._

           

_Sincerely,_

_Marianne Dashwood_

 

 

            He could barely sleep that night. He clung to her letter in bed, wondering what fate had in store for him. Hoping it was the best, but fearing he might have misinterpreted her words and meaning, and that the worse was to befall him.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaahh! You guys are catching up to me! BAD AUTHOR! BAD MUSE! We need to get going with this, soon.
> 
> And also, don't panic if I go AWOL, cause my laptop is dying. It took three tries to turn on today, so... but fret not, I already backed up what I do have written of this.

Marianne woke early and could hardly contain herself. She didn’t even quite remember what she had written in the letter, so anxious and nervous she was. She had to see him. So much so that she barely ate breakfast, biting into a piece of toast and sipping her tea before excusing herself and running off, leaving Elinor and Edward behind to have their breakfast in peace, yet without much understanding her rush.

            She took hurried, contained steps towards Delaford manor, but her mind raced. When she was outside the village, her feet raced just as her mind, not quite caring if she would look disheveled when she reached her destination. She had doubts about accepting his proposal. Not due to him. She loved him, she was sure. But would it be fair to him, to take his name, impose herself upon his house with all that was said about her? Without having a shilling to her name? Would not she harm his reputation? Should she refuse, for his sake?

            These were all questions that weighed on her mind during the night. But in the end, her heart told her she could not possibly live life away from him.

            Colonel Brandon had not slept at all. He read her letter time and time again to be sure he did not misread her words. It indeed stated she held him in the highest regard. And yet it was not definite. It seemed she had some sort of doubt. But his heart hoped, so strongly, that her answer would be favorable. That she had strong affections for him was already enough for him to be immeasurably happy. Anything other could perhaps be overcome.

            He was dressed before the sun came up and had to restrain himself from seeking her. He had promised he would not press her for an answer, and seeking her would certainly be just that. So he paced the manor, made himself tea as the servants were still retired, and finally settled in his study, trying to sort some papers and figures. Every once in a while, he would read her letter again and smile, his heart pounding as if he were a boy again, completely roused and hopeful.

            He walked the hall, seeking something other to do in another room, when he heard the knocker on the door. His heart raced to think it might be her. So early. It could only be merry news. Could it? Would she rush to refuse him? A servant opened the door and he waited, standing there in view of it, paralyzed. He felt his stomach churn and climb up into his chest as he saw, when the door was finally open, standing on his doorsteps, Miss Marianne Dashwood, looking winded, cheeks crimson. A wide and beautiful smile opened to him before she was even announced.

            “Miss Dashwood,” the servant announced and Marianne stepped inside, trying to compose herself. He could not help but to smile widely as well as the servant closed the door and walked away, leaving only the angelic sight of the woman who held his heart in front of him.

            She felt abashed and did not quite know what to do now she was there. She pulled on her own fingers and looked from him to her fingers and back at him again. She noticed he held a piece of paper and recognized her handwriting on it. He was about to ask her if she had given his proposal any thought when she stepped forward.

            “Miss Dashwood…”

            “I see you have found my note.” She smiled.

            “I have, yes. Words that seem to have made me… completely joyous.” He took a step forward as well. He placed the letter in his pocket. “Though not… completely sure as to their meaning. Did you… do you mean it when you say you… hold me in the highest regard?” He asked with a small smile and hopeful eyes.

            She stepped forward again, almost completely vanquishing the distance between them. “Yes. With all my heart.”

            He took her hands in his, slightly hesitantly, and held them, his thumbs caressing small circles on the back of her hands. She did not pull away, but rather smiled nervously.

“Do you believe you could… one day, perhaps… love me, as I do you?”

            “I… I believe I already do.” Her shy smile still adorned her face, along with bright pink cheeks. His large strong hands on hers gave her the strength and courage, and confirmation he had not thought better of his confessions on the previous day and decided against them, something that had also plagued her heart for the whole of the night.

            His heart beat in such ecstasy, he struggled for air, and to restrain tears from falling down his cheeks. “So… will you? Make me the happiest of men on this earth and allow me to make you my wife?” His countenance hovered over hers, their bodies so close.

            She nodded her response repeatedly, tears flowing from her eyes, before her tongue could form the words. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Colonel,” she said with a smile as tears still fell from her eyes.

            He breathed in relief, with a wide smile, and a short, silent and yet joyous laugh. His heart could be felt beating in his ears. His hands traveled up her arms, gently and slowly caressing them, making her shiver. They stopped on her shoulders, hesitant, not quite knowing what to do. They then moved to her face, brushing a curl off her forehead, then tenderly caressing her cheeks. All the while he smiled and observed her every expression so very closely, every detail of her countenance. Tears still swam in her eyes, but she smiled shyly. Her eyes also had joy in them.

            His lips slowly came down to meet hers as he held her cheeks, and finally, what his heart had desired so earnestly for months came to be. He kissed her, their lips tenderly meeting. Her lips were as soft and sweet as he had always imagined. There were no words that could describe the happiness he felt. His hands lowered from her cheeks to her neck as he deepened the kiss in part, gently suckling on her lips, but not begging them for admittance into her mouth. She whimpered despite herself, and quickly learned to do the same to his lips in turn as her hands sought support on his shoulders. He pulled away from her lips and once again she whimpered, but in protest, despite herself. He touched his forehead to hers and breathed in deeply.

            “Would you…” he said, foreheads still touching, both their eyes still closed, “call me by my Christian name?”

            She smiled, still trying to catch her breath. “Christopher,” she whispered.

            He pulled back to look at her. She blushed furiously, and he smiled. “Marianne. Sweet Marianne.”

            They heard the door and a servant coming to answer it, and pulled further apart, quickly, as Colonel Brandon held his hands behind his back and waited to see who it was. Marianne was still flustered and short of breath, his kiss causing her to feel things she had never felt before and could not quite explain. She had time to arrange her curls before the door was opened and Elinor came in.

            “Colonel, good morning! Sorry to intrude so early, but Marianne, dearest, we really should get going. The coach will be here shortly.”

            “The coach?” Colonel Brandon asked.

            “Yes, well, you see, I talked to Edward and I am to pay Mama and Margaret a visit, and take Marianne back, since she lost track of time yesterday,” Elinor smiled.

            “My carriage is at your disposal, Mrs. Ferrars, as it has been at Ma… Miss Dashwood’s” he corrected himself in time and Marianne smiled shyly. They had not had time to discuss when they would share the news, but Colonel Brandon felt it would be wrong to do so before asking for her mother’s blessing.

            “Oh, that is very kind of you Colonel, as always, but we were not even sure we would find you in today, nor did we wish to be a burden so early in the morning.”

            “It is no burden at all. In fact…” Colonel Brandon looked to Marianne and her shy, tender eyes met his with what seemed to him to be joy and… love. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as they hadn’t in nearly twenty years. “… I should like to join you, if you will have me. I have some… business to see to at Barton.”

            “Oh! Well, if you are to head that way… I … we… would thank you if you would allow us to accompany you.”

            Colonel Brandon let one of his shy, composed smiles grace his lips and nodded once. “I will ask the carriage be readied.” And he walked towards the door, feeling relief. He had not been able to contain himself or his high hopes and had readied a small riding bag during the night, hoping to have good, joyous reasons to ride to Barton. It felt absolutely marvelous to not have disappointment overflow one’s heart.

 

            Elinor sat beside her sister in the carriage, both facing Colonel Brandon. He and Marianne both gazed out the window, admiring the landscape, and every few minutes, they would steal glances at one another. Some times their eyes would linger upon the other’s countenance and be swimming in admiration. Some times their gazes would meet and both would quickly return their watchful eyes towards the landscape, blushing and smiling bashfully.

            Elinor observed this, amused, and adding these small signs to the fact Marianne rushed out of the breakfast room so early in the morning to go to him, and that she had stayed at Delaford the previous evening, presumably waiting for him to return, Elinor could very well guess what the Colonel’s business in Barton was. She smiled to herself.

 

            Upon arrival at Barton Cottage, after sending the carriage up to the Park so the horses could rest, Colonel Brandon asked for a private audience with Mrs. Dashwood. Marianne sat in the parlor with Elinor and Margaret, anxiously waiting while Margaret harassed her, begging her to confirm if it was what she thought it was. Colonel Brandon and Mrs. Dashwood conversed in the dining parlor. It was not a long conversation, for Mrs. Dashwood had long given Colonel Brandon her blessing, but Marianne’s nerves were in such a state that it seemed to take forever. She could not handle it any longer, and so she told her sisters the news in a whisper, of how he had proposed the previous day, and how she had given him her answer this morning, since they were interrupted the previous afternoon.

            When the Colonel and Mrs. Dahswood stepped out, the lady hurried to embrace her daughter as Elinor congratulated the Colonel, and Margaret was quick to say she was excited to have him as a brother. He thanked them both, so incredibly joyous of being betrothed to the woman of his dreams, and being thus lovingly accepted as part of her family. After having luncheon with the Dashwoods – and Mrs. Ferrars – the Colonel requested Marianne go for a walk with him, and she readily accepted.

            They made their usual path, but the air about them was not usual at all. They walked arm in arm and he, with his opposite hand, caressed small circles on the back of the hand that lovingly squeezed his arm. They were still very shy about their newfound situation, and Colonel Brandon shier still about letting himself get so carried away when kissing her. But he had wanted to taste her lips for so long, there was no controlling the love pent up inside.

            Marianne was shy about having enjoyed the kiss so much. It lit a fire in her belly she had never experienced before, and she had craved his lips on hers again ever since that morning. But surely there was no ladylike way of asking him to repeat it. And to think she had once though this man to be stripped of passion, too old for it. The kiss he bestowed upon her proved her completely wrong, if his actions up to now hadn’t done so already. It was passionate, as his reading, his handling of the pianoforte, and his professions of love for her. It was the sort of kiss she had only ever read about, and even so, a very limited number of times. It made her cheeks burn and blush just to read about. Actually taking part in one made the burning descend.

            They reached their preferred shade and Colonel Brandon laid down his coat for her to sit on, being careful to remove something from its pocket and place it in the pocket of his trousers. She was curious, yet shy to ask for explanations. She sat on his coat and he followed, sitting closer than usual, yet maintaining some distance, though not so respectable anymore. He was overwhelmed with joy when she moved closer still to him, hooking her am in his and resting her head on his shoulders.

            “I’m afraid I forgot to bring the latest book we were reading,” she said.

            “No matter. Just being seated next to you is enough to make me happy for all eternity.”

            “Is it? Then I shall have no work at all in pleasing my future husband.” A smile graced her lips.

            He chuckled, then turned to plant a kiss to her cheek. She wished it was her lips. “None whatsoever, my sweet.”

            After a few moments of silence, he pulled away from her and reached into his pocket. “I have something for you.”

            She looked up at him, puzzled, and when he made a little red box seen, she clasped her hands on her mouth with a gasp.

            “I hope it is to your liking,” he stated, then opened the box to reveal a gorgeous ring, gold band with a slightly rose, pear-shaped diamond.

            “Oh! Chris!” She gasped. “It is so beautiful! Was it your mother’s?” It was the only possible explanation. He had not had time to go buy her a ring. He hadn’t even known her answer until this morning.

            He gazed at her silently, fervent admiration in his eyes mixed with a bit of astonishment. His heart thudded in his chest, unable to contain all the love he felt. He was so close to her, he could smell her sweet scented curls and skin. He took his time breathing it all in.

            “What is it?” She asked, worried. “Have I… erred in some way? Do you… not enjoy being called Chris? Forgive me, it…”

            “My darling Marianne,” he touched her cheek tenderly, played with a curl from her hair, then brushed it back. “I love the sweet sound of your voice calling me. If you could only feel how wildly my heart beats for you!”

            Marianne found in his tender gaze into her eyes the courage to touch her palm to his chest. She could feel his beating heart and smiled. He smiled more widely.

            “That you would address me so intimately… lovingly… It is a dream come true. That you are the only one to call me as such only makes it better.”

            “I am glad… Chris.” She smiled, gazing now to his lips, so close, yet so far.

            He took the ring from the box and held it up. “May I?”

            She stretched her hand close to his and he slowly slid the ring onto her finger, intertwining his fingers with hers immediately after he was through placing the symbol of his love on her hand. Just his hand interlocked with hers made her stomach flutter, and that unfamiliar feeling light up in her lower belly. But it did not scare her. She felt safe with him. His lips lowered onto hers again and brushed against hers, sweetly, as their hands were still locked together. He pulled back before he got again carried away. She fought back the urge to keep his lips on hers and deepen the kiss as he had last time.

            “To answer your previous question…no. It was not my mother’s. Hers was lost long ago to pay my father’s debts.” He looked a bit downcast and she touched her palm to his cheek to soothe him. With this, he smiled again, and turned to kiss her palm. “I bought this. For you.”

            “When? You couldn’t… you did not properly have the time!”

            He was a bit embarrassed of his story, but he began to tell it anyway. “I… bought it when I first arrived in London last season. I walked the streets, searching for provisions for Eliza, when I saw it in a shop window. I could not help but think of you, and your rosy cheeks, and how beautifully it would suit you.” He smiled and caressed her cheek again. Her eyes began to water. “I had no prospect of ever giving it to at the time, but I could not stop myself from buying it.”

            “Chris… that is so incredibly romantic!”

            “I did not lie when I said I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you.” He moved to kiss her forehead as she cupped both his cheeks and pulled his lips down to hers, surprising herself that she would take such initiative. She mimicked what he had done, brushing her lips to his softly before suckling on his lips. She felt such relief as he did the same in turn and was not repulsed by her boldness.

            When they parted, she breathed loudly, after swallowing hard. “Is… is it very wrong that I enjoy these kisses? I… I do not wish to displease you, or be… unladylike.”

            He chuckled. “I see no one else here. And I want you to be free and completely yourself with me. I love you just as you are, sweet Marianne. And there could be no better feeling than having you enjoy my kisses, since I myself think your kisses taste sweeter than honey, and would have them every hour of every day if I could.”

            He kissed her once more, both feeling joy that could not fit into their chests. It was a good thing they shared it.

            And Marianne felt so utterly loved. She finally understood fully what she had been reading about all this time. What she had yearned for.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep the comments coming! Help my muse return!

Colonel Brandon remained at Barton for the next few days. He slept at Barton Park, but the whole of his days belonged to the Cottage and the lady who held his heart, now officially, to his delight. He could not remember ever being this happy in his life. The feeling was so foreign that he feared it would be ripped away in the blink of an eye. Could he deserve such happiness? He tried not to dwell much on those ominous feelings and just enjoy it. Enjoy Marianne’s soft, small hands in his, her beautiful blue eyes looking into his so lovingly… Her sweet lips against his.

            And thus he ate every meal in her company, relishing in the smiles she had for him, which he had once never dared imagine would be so bright for him. He would escort her in her daily walks, his heart beating fast as a young boy’s in feeling her hand in the nook of his arm, or with her fingers intertwined with his, when they were away from curious eyes. They continued with their reading, be it in her mother’s dinning parlor or under their favorite birch tree after a long walk. Colonel Brandon preferred sitting under the tree with her, for in those moments, kisses could be stolen and he could get lost in the sweetness of her lips and flowery perfume of her neatly pinned up curls, which would rest on his shoulder as he read to her poems that expressed how strongly he felt for her. It eased his heart that he could now say such things openly, with no fear of what her reaction would be if he were to be discovered. That he could say such things and they were accepted with joy, smiles and kisses. It made his heart swell.

            Though Marianne wished to keep it to themselves for a bit longer, it became quite impossible to conceal such happiness from the prying eyes of Mrs. Jennings and of Sir John, who knew Brandon for far too long not to notice his happiness and changing spirits. The secret was revealed within two days, and the Dashwoods were invited to a special dinner at the Park to celebrate the joyous news. Of course Mrs. Jennings had many things to say and jokes to make, especially claiming she had foreseen it and had helped the love birds. It served to irritate Marianne, but not quite as much as Mrs. Jennings’ words once would. Her happiness in finding that the men she only read of did in fact exist, and that one could love her even when she had been so foolish as to disgrace herself in the eyes of society, and to treat him so rudely when all he had to offer was kindness and love, far surpassed whatever vexation Mrs. Jennings could inflict.

            The time came when Colonel Brandon had to return to Delaford and see to the estate. Though neither wished to, the betrothed said their goodbyes, and left with the other their hearts. But it was not long before they were made whole once more. The following week had Marianne arriving at her future home to continue her enhancement of culture and visit her sister, though she did not mind putting either task on hold just to enjoy Christopher’s company.

            The carriage approached the sweep and she could already see Colonel Brandon standing at the door waiting for her arrival, a broad smile assaulting his features. Yes, it was quite lovely to be the cause of such joy in a once so solemn and grave man, who indeed had much joy to give.

            As the carriage came to a stop, he stepped forward to open the door and offered his hand to aid her out. She gladly took it, with a bright wide smile. His thumb caressed the back of her hand as she climbed out. Such a bold gesture in front of the coachman and servant that stood by the door.

            “Miss Dashwood,” he bowed and pressed his lips to her hand.

            “Not for long, I hope,” she said in a whisper only he could hear and smiled.

            “I hope that the transpired week since I last saw you has been a pleasant one,” he said formally as he escorted her down the hall and into the library. Servants were still about, closing the front door and taking the tea tray into the library.

            “It has been tolerable.”

            “Only tolerable?”

            They were in the library now, the servant leaving. She closed the door behind her.

            “Yes, for I did not lay eyes on you,” Marianne said as she ran into his arms, her hands wrapping around his waist as her head rested on his chest. “I have missed you, Chris.”

            Hearing such words was like music to his ears. His heart beat faster as his hands rubbed her shoulders. “And I you, my darling.”

            She pulled away with a concerned look on her face. “Are you well?” She placed her hand on his chest, over his heart, referring to the thudding in his chest.

            “Yes. Quite,” he smiled and covered her hand with his. “Such is my love for you.”

            Her cheeks blushed crimson and she smiled. He leaned down and pecked her lips. “Has anything else marked your week, apart from the happy fact you missed me?”

            “Yes. Mrs. Jennings is already driving me mad with preparations for the wedding! She has half the guest list made up and has settled it we are to have the celebratory breakfast there, of course. I quite believe the dishes and decorations have also been chosen, and I took part in nothing!” Marianne was quite vexed, playing with a decoration that sat on the edge of the large table in the library. “She has not a worry for budget, or anything. That woman…” She sighed. Colonel Brandon chuckled. She then remembered who she was venting to. This was all intended for Elinor, not him. She had already filled her mother’s ears with such ranting, but apparently it had not been enough. But men did not care for such things, she knew. “Forgive me. I am being unpleasant,” she said shyly

            “That is certainly impossible, sweet Marianne.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Need I remind you that you can always be yourself with me?”

            She smiled shyly.

            “And you need not worry about a budget. Money is no impediment. I want you to have whatever your heart desires.”

            “No, Christopher, I will not spend your money as such when I am not even your wife yet.”

            “Yet,” he smiled.

            She smiled shyly again.

            “And have I not said that everything I own, everything I am, is at your feet?”

            She embraced him, delighted, and could feel his heart hammering in confirmation.

            “I do like the idea that preparations are underway. I would like to take you as a wife before God and our neighbors as quickly as possible. If… if you have no objections, if you are absolutely sure of your decision, I… I would like to have the bans read from Sunday next?”

            “Chris… of course I am sure of my decision.” She caressed his cheek. “Yes, you may have the bans read,” she smiled. That meant they could be wed in as early as four weeks, should they wish it. “I too believe that the earlier I am Mrs. Christopher Brandon, the happier I shall be.”

            His heart thudded in his chest again, and as his thumb caressed her cheek, his other fingers sank in her hair. He leaned down to gently brush his lips on hers.

            “I adore you. I love you.”

            “I love you,” she answered, though very shyly. After a moment of silent admiration, Marianne spoke. “You haven’t put away the puzzle,” she stated as she observed it lying on the table, as they had left it a fortnight ago.

            “No. We have not finished.”

            “Shall we do that now?”

            Colonel Brandon pulled out the chair for her to sit and when she was settled, he returned the other chair and placed it beside her for him to sit. They sat closer than they had before, their shoulders almost touching. He tenderly caressed her hand, resting on her leg under the table, and was ecstatic when she immediately placed her hand in his, and gently squeezed, with a smile. Their fingers remained intertwined as they assembling more of the puzzle. When their free hands reached for the same piece, he took hers and pressed his lips to it, making her giggle so sweetly.

            The puzzle lay almost complete before her. Though a portion was still undone, she could already admire the painting in awe. She had never been anywhere other than Norland, Barton, and London, which she did not see much of since her attention was tied elsewhere. And the image of nature, so majestic, so beautiful, really left her breathless. The thought of seeing that actual location before her eyes…

            “Oh, Chris, this seems like such a lovely place.”

            “It is, as I remember it.”

            “Perhaps… perhaps we might go there? Some day?” Marianne asked shyly.

            “Absolutely,” he said in a soft rumble with his velvet-like voice. “I will take you wherever your heart desires, sweet Marianne.”

            She blushed and leaned to brush her lips on his. It was beginning to come very naturally to her, that gesture. She should police herself. But he quite enjoyed her initiative, and deepened the kiss, made it be the type where he would suckle on her lips, the type she found so riveting and made her stomach flutter in a special way. He did not bestow such kisses so frequently, and she regretted that and did not quite understand why he wouldn’t. She of course had no courage to entice him into such a kiss herself, not as often as she would like, so she just rejoiced in them when they did occur.

            He, on the other hand, wished not to be so disrespectful, but there were moments when he simply could not resist and master himself. But even when he was bestowing such kisses, he was indeed mastering himself, he very well knew, for his true wish was to deepen them further and claim her mouth, her whole. She did seem to enjoy them, the kisses, and for that he was thankful. She whimpered when they parted, his hands still cupping her cheeks, and that sound made his stomach churn in delight.

            They decided to go out into the back garden for a stroll, arm in arm. They smiled so widely as they conversed with one another, their cheeks hurt. They found a bench under a lovely shade on which to sit, and he picked a plum and handed it to her.

            “Thank you,” she said before biting into it. Juice ran down her chin and he was ready with his handkerchief to wipe it before it dropped down to stain her dress. He wiped her chin, but her lips… He leaned in and once again kissed her soft, tender lips, tasting her natural sweetness with that of the fruit, sucking on them and had his sucked in turn. The worry of not being ladylike slipped her mind for a second and she whimpered as his lips were still against hers. He found it best to stop himself before he gave himself more than he should. And in every case, he could see Elinor on the patio next to the house. She could not see them for the shade concealed them and the sun shone in her face.

            “I believe it must be time for tea at the Parsonage,” he said with a timid smile, and Marianne turned around to find her sister searching for her. She knew very well that her mother had charged Elinor of not allowing them to be alone for too long a period of time. Not that she did not trust Colonel Brandon, or her middle daughter, but now that they were betrothed, it would be very much frowned upon and might entice people into further gossip about Marianne. She could not wait to be married and be able to have her husband kiss her as thoroughly and as often as he desired.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one... sorry. Will try to post the next one a bit faster, but I don't know if that will help too much....
> 
> Also would like to tell you guys that I only had this written up to chapter 25. I fell into a slump and it was a long one, and I thought you would have to wait and wait for the next one after that... However, I have started to have ideas again, and wrote a couple. So finger crossed this flow will continue through to the end of the story. Also, I think it's turning out a lot smuttier than I intended. Hope you don't mind.

            Colonel Brandon invited the whole of the Dashwood family along with Sir John and Mrs. Jennings to Delaford. He hadn’t done so yet, after the most joyous event of his life so far, when Marianne had agreed to be his wife. So he thought it was only proper to.

            The party had been at his estate for a few days, and Marianne longed for some moments alone with her beloved Christopher, something that had not been possible during all these days, as he was the host to so many. She managed to wake earlier than usual, and than most, and found Colonel Brandon in his study, going over some business.

            “Good morning,” she said from the door as to call his attention. He looked up, surprised.

            “Good morning. Did you not sleep well?”

            “I did, thank you. I just wanted to have a moment’s peace with you,” she smiled timidly.

            He bore his teeth in the most delightful smile, expressing his extreme joy. “I hope when we are wed you will still long for such moments, and won’t tire of me too soon.” He stood and walked around the desk to her.

            “I shall tire of you never,” she smiled as he went to the door and looked up and down the hallway to check that they were indeed alone. He then walked back to her and leaned down to peck her lips. “Could you spare some time to go riding with your bride to be?” She asked with a sweet, yet somewhat sly smile on her lips.

            “Of course. For you, anything, my love.”

            They walked arm in arm out into the stables after having a cup of tea and some toast together, alone in the breakfast room.

            He saddled her mare, Guinevere, for her as a stable hand saddled his horse, and his strong hands lifted her by the waist to mount her ride once he was done. She blushed incredibly crimson and her breathing grew a bit erratic as her mind wondered and thought of such strong hands caressing her freely, whenever they chose to once they were wed. She quickly pushed such unladylike images from her head.

            They rode and talked for a good while before returning to the manor. They met some villagers and workers on their ride, and Colonel Brandon was not abashed to introduce her as their future mistress. She smiled and blushed, but something akin to pride fluttered around in her stomach due to hearing him call her mistress of all he owned.

            When they returned to the manor, it seemed they still had some moments to be alone, as most of the household still had not woken. Only Mrs. Dashwood had, and upon not finding anyone, took the liberty of walking to her eldest daughter’s house.

            So the Colonel and Marianne took to the music room to practice some duets they had begun to learn together. They smiled and giggled as their hands brushed against each other’s. They lost focus and played the wrong note whenever that did happen. They laughed nervously at their mistakes, and stole gentle caresses at each other’s hands and arms, until finally Marianne rose from the instrument and left him alone at it, begging him to play her a song. She so loved to hear him play.

            She sat on a sofa that faced the instrument to watch him, a smile and admiration evident on her countenance. And thus he commenced his playing. His heart swelling to think he now had someone to play to, someone that cherished his efforts. He no longer felt the need to play melancholy tunes, and played a beautiful love song for his beautiful love bird.

            She sat watching, hearing, feeling him play, looking on to him with nothing but love in her eyes. Her mind began to wander to images of sitting in this room, mistress to it. Would he still serenate her as such? Would his kisses be so sweet, would his touch be so tender? Something in her heart told her it would all be much, much sweeter. She smiled widely.

            Her eyes fell upon the curtains that fell from the high ceiling over the windows, the ones Mrs. Jennings had noticed she disliked. How annoyingly right that woman could be. She had, from the beginning, teased her and Christopher, and wished to marry her off to him. Had only Marianne not pushed the idea away due to Mrs. Jennings’ crude ways and Marianne’s own preconceptions… she could have been happier for much longer. Christopher was all she wished for in a man, not one bit the dull, old, grave man she had pegged him as. He was romantic, passionate, interesting, intelligent. And devoted to her, it seemed. She was so lucky.

            “You really do not like those curtains, do you? Mrs. Jennings was right.”

            She was startled out of her thoughts to see him watching her, smiling. She did not realize she was staring at the curtains, nor that the song had already ended. She blushed furiously red.

            “I…I…”

            “Do not trouble yourself, sweet Marianne,” he stood to sit beside her, “you may do with them as you please.” He took her hand and brushed his lips on the back of it. “Do you have any idea on what color would please you? I can have samples brought as early as next week.”

            “Christopher! We are not even wed yet! I will not go around changing your home.”

            “Yet.” He smiled. “I do, however, remember telling you that everything I am, everything I own is at your feet, always. So yes, you may change whatever you please, my love.”

            Marianne smiled, then dared to pose a question she had had in her mind for a while now. “Are they… did your mother choose them? Is that why you kept them? Your mother or… another mistress that Delaford had?”

            He took her tiny hand between both of his. “I confess I do not know. I did not much notice such things when I was a boy… nor as a man. When I returned from the war, the estate was very much deteriorated, I had much to restore. The curtains were fine, so I just left them untouched, except for having them cleaned. So if you are asking me if I have any love for the curtains… I do not.” He kissed the back of her delicate hand and brushed his thumb over it. “I love you. And wish for you to be utterly satisfied with every small aspect of your life. So please, tell me what color fabric I should have brought for you to inspect.”

            She smiled and caressed his cheek. “I shall think on it.”

            Before they could share the kiss they both wished to, there was a knock on the door, giving them only enough time to sit further apart before Mrs. Jennings burst in. They had been found out. So their time alone would have to be continued some other time.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a short chapter. I apologize...

            The wedding was but a few days away. Preparations were in full speed, taking up most of Marianne’s time, and she had not seen her beloved Christopher in almost a week.

            The festivities were to take place at Barton Park, as Mrs. Jennings and Sir John had kindly offered and incessantly insisted on, after a ceremony at Barton Parish. Marianne would spend her days at Barton Park, seeing to the decorations, place settings and flower arrangements. It was all set to take place in the back garden, and it was all mostly handled and being beautifully arranged under a tent, to prevent from any damage sudden rainfall could cause, though Marianne desperately hoped there would be sunshine on the day itself.

            But the looks of this particular day were of rain. Marianne thought it best to head to the Park and see to what needed to be done early, before the rain fell. Especially since Christopher was to come later in the day, and she wished to spend every moment possible with him. Starting on the morrow, they would not be able to see each other until the ceremony. A silly tradition it may be, but Christopher had said he would not wish to take any chances that might affect his extreme happiness. She smiled at the thought of him saying such sweet words to her.

Mrs. Dashwood interrupted her happy thoughts. “Dearest, you should have tea with Fanny and your brother while at the Park, do you not agree?”

            Yes, it was true. There was that small trouble to get over. The guests that were to come from far had already mostly arrived. Some, few of Christopher’s acquaintances from the army, for it was not to be a large party, were established at an inn in the village. But Sir John was kind enough to put up John and Fanny, since they were family. Marianne had managed to avoid them for a few days now, but she could not do it forever, she supposed. She should just get it over with.

            So Marianne walked up to the Park in good spirits, breathing deeply to keep them so even as she suffered Fanny. She was well. She had a marvelous gentleman, a man of consequence, willing to marry her despite what Fanny, what both the Dashwoods of Norland said.  And Elinor had married Fanny’s brother, for love, as it should have been from the start, despite her meddling and horrible words. Marianne had the upper hand. But she should not be unpleasant about it.

            She arrived at the Park earlier than she had intended, without having had breakfast, so that she could make the effort of sitting with Fanny even if it was solely due to her need of a meal. Since she needed to have some sort of conversation with her brother and his insipid wife, better it be over food. Sir John and Mrs. Jennings had already moved on to other activities, but the Dahswoods could be found at the breakfast parlor, she was told upon arrival.

            That was where she headed. She stopped outside, out of view, upon hearing her name being uttered by her brother.

            “… fortunate that Marianne has found such an agreeable marriage. And that he should not ask us for a dowry is just splendid.”

            Marianne was almost sickened by such words. That her own brother should be more content of not having lost money than that she had found happiness was a horrible notion. But she should know better than to expect more from him.

            “Yes, yes,” Fanny said in her droll manner. “It is quite fortunate for her. I just pity the poor Colonel. How his good name will be dragged through the mud with such a match! Is he aware of the things that are said of her after that ordeal with a priorly engaged gentleman? He must not. We are lucky to not have suffered much, having the same name. I would not wish to harm such a gentleman’s repute as, and would cosign to living alone or marrying more accordingly to my rank. But then again, not everyone can have such selfless inclinations.”

            “True, very true my dear.”

            Marianne’s heart weighed in her chest as tears filled her eyes. She would never, not in a millennium, wish to bring harm to Christopher. Is that what she would do? Had she been selfish in accepting his proposal? Had she done wrong? She was talked about, she knew, but she had not realized it was so grave. She did not wish to bring shame to Christopher’s name. It could perhaps even hurt his business. The estate. No, no, that would not do.

            Marianne rushed out of Barton Park, and only in the safety of an obliging, empty field did she let tears flow freely from her eyes and sobs come forth from her lips. She roamed aimlessly, pondering what she had done, what should be done, what could cause her dear Christopher less pain. Her heart was heavy, as was her mind, but she lacked strength to support it all. The rain that had been threatening to fall all morning erupted from the skies above, and still she roamed, now trying to find her way home and straighten out her thoughts. Maybe Elinor, who was already staying there for the festivities, could be of help to her in this time of doubt. But her body could not endure it anymore, her rushing mind and heart tired, and she collapsed upon the wet grass.

 

            Colonel Brandon rode to Barton excited, nervous, as if it were already his wedding day. Just to imagine that in a little under eight-and-forty hours he would be able to call Marianne his, truly his… And given his past luck, he had of course searched for signs that it would go wrong somehow, that she would have second thoughts and realize that she in fact, did not love him, and had simply settled with what she could have in view of not being able to be with the one she truly loved. But none of it had happened. She always seemed genuinely happy to see him, and with the prospect of being his wife. And her disposition was not one to conceal feelings, great or small.

            He rode in the carriage, for he rode with Edward, who he was becoming friends with fast. He rode in the carriage also because it must be there at Barton to take back the newlywed couple to Delaford.

            It was a rare moment of silence between the gentleman when the Colonel saw a white patch upon the green grass by the road. His heart sank as he remembered Marianne lying atop the hill in Cleveland. As they drove beside the scene, he could confirm that indeed it was a lady, collapsed in the pouring rain. His heart knew it was Marianne.

            He ordered the coachman to stop immediately, in despair, wondering what had occurred, what it all meant. Brandon ran out into the rain before Edward could utter a word, and knelt beside the body of this beloved creature, who only brought joy to his heart and for whom he wished to do the same. He shook her, trying to bring her back to consciousness, but it did not work, much as it hadn’t once before. He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the carriage as Edward held the door open.

            “My God! What must have happened? Do her sisters and mother know she is out in the rain?”

            “They mustn’t,” was all Colonel Brandon said as he wrapped his warm, dry coat around her, for it had stayed in the carriage, and laid her head on his lap.

            “Marianne. Marianne!” He shook her, trying to fight back tears. Edward knew to knock on the window to the coachman and indicate he continue to Barton Cottage, hurriedly.

            The only comfort Colonel Brandon had was that she was not so cold and her skin not so pale as in past events. It was not so serious. It could not be. He held her hand and touched his lips to it, not minding the man that sat across from them.

            Marianne had, in fact, not been in the rain too long before she had been found. A doctor was called, of course, but all she needed was a warm bed and dry clothes. Colonel Brandon waited in the parlor, begging to God she was really well, hoping she would ask for his presence so he could see with his own eyes and know they were still to be wed. He knew her well, after months of only being able to observe and admire her from afar. He watched, and learned, and only added to that knowledge with their recent friendship and proximity. She had something on her mind, he knew. That is why she went out into the rain. And he feared it was their upcoming nuptials that troubled her.

            “Colonel, she is awake and would like to see you,” Elinor smiled as she came down the stairs.

            Colonel Brandon rose quickly and rushed towards the stairs. “Thank you,” he said to Elinor as she cleared the stairway for him to climb.

            He reached the room to find Marianne sitting in bed and her mother taking out the linen. Mrs. Dashwood smiled at the Colonel and pulled the door behind her so he could have some privacy with his betrothed.

            He rushed to the chair beside her bed and took her hand in his as he sat.

            “Marianne?”

            She looked down to the covers, shyly, holding back tears. He felt her hand did not have the ring he bestowed upon it, and saw it sitting on the nightstand.

            “Marianne, are you well?”

            She looked up at him and he saw her red teary eyes.

            “What is the matter?”

            She looked back down into the covers. She found it hard to speak. She could not, not without crying. He let go of her hand and it was as if someone had ripped her heart out.

            “Are… are you having doubts?” He asked more gravely. “Do you not wish to be wed to me any longer?”

            She fiddled with her fingers over the covers and cried, saying nothing. This would be best for him, to be away from her and her bad name. Her crying turned into sobbing.

            “I see,” he said, sadly. He would never wish to cause her such pain. Never. He would endure his, as he always had, and release her from their understanding, if it would stop her feeling such pain. The ring she could keep. It was meant for her. It would never be worn by anyone else. Nor would any other lady wear any other ring, not one purchased by him. He rose from his chair and turned to walk to the door, holding back his tears.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be up much ealier, but today was nothing short of hellish.  
> I hope you enjoy.

            “Christopher!” He heard her cry as his hand touched the doorknob, and his heart thudded dully in his chest.

            She could not let him go, she could not. Not while he believed that she did not love him and that the very thought of marrying him made her cry so uncontrollably and feel so wretched. It might be selfish of her, but it would break her heart irreparably if she did let him walk away like this.

            “Chris, please,” she pleaded in between sobs, and he turned around, holding back tears of his own as he looked to her, grave, almost drowning in sorrow were it not the sliver of hope her calling him so tenderly planted in his heart.

            “Please understand… it is not that I do not love you. Because I do. I do! More than I could have ever thought possible to love anyone on this Earth. Please know that.”

            His heart swelled as warmth and relief spread in his chest. To hear such fervent words from her lips was like a dream. He stepped back towards her, hesitantly, but could not help but rush back to her side to take her hand when she looked up at him, eyes red and swollen from crying. He just caressed her hands, listening, waiting for an explanation.

            “This is just… what is best for you,” she said more quietly, still through tears.

            “How could being parted from my heart, my soul, the sole thing I love most in this world, be what is best for me?”

            Her tears came down her cheeks stronger as she was touched by his incredibly sweet words. “I… I will only bring shame to you, and your name. You are a good man, I would never wish to harm you as such.”

            “That is… utterly impossible, sweet Marianne. You only bring me happiness, light in my life. Pride, that I could be a good enough man to secure the affection of such a beautiful, intelligent young lady, with a kind soul. You could never bring me shame. Wherever would you get such an idea?” He brushed his lips on the back of her hand. “Never would you bring me shame, never. Only happiness unlike I have ever experienced.”

            “But… people talk, Christopher. About me, due to my… past foolishness.” She looked down to her lap, wiping her tears. “I overheard Fanny and my brother talking of how I now only bring shame to my name in the most important circles of society. I do not wish for it to be so with you, with the Brandon name.”

            Of course. Of course it had to have been such a foul creature as Fanny Dashwood to plant these horrible notions in his sweet Marianne’s mind.

            “I have told you once, my dear, and I will repeat it now and as many times as needed. I do not care about the opinion of the likes of your sister-in-law, nor what she or the company she keeps might or might not say of me. And neither should you. All I care for is you. And your happiness.”

            She smiled faintly and could not stop herself from reaching up the hand he did not hold and caressing his cheek.

            “So tell me, Marianne, what is it your heart tells you? Do not pay any heed to what anyone else might have to say, much less Fanny. Do you wish to marry me? Do you believe it will bring you joy? That _I_ can bring you joy? I can assure you I would give my life, my all, to assure you are happy every day of your life.”

            She smiled. “Yes, of course you will bring me joy. You’ve had, every day I lay eyes on you, for the past months. I do wish to marry you. If you will still have me, sweet Christopher.”

            He kissed her hands repeatedly, one after the other. “There is nothing I wish for more in this life than to have you as my wife, Marianne.” He took the ring from her bedside table and caressed her hand. “May I?”

            “Yes.” She smiled, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

            Colonel Brandon slipped the ring on her finger.

            “Chris?”

            “Yes, my sweet?”

            “May I ask you for something?”

            “Anything. Everything.”

            “Please kiss me, so I’ll know you are not cross with me.”

            It was very bold, kissing her as she lay in bed in her shift and a fine robe, but he would do it. He would hopefully be doing so for the rest of his life, starting in two nights. He leaned in and pecked her lips. Before anything else could be said or done, there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Dashwood came in, Betsy in tow carrying a tray with soup for Marianne.

            “Is… something the matter?” Mrs. Dashwood asked upon laying eyes on her daughter.

            “No, Mama,” Marianne smiled.

            “A small misunderstanding that has been resolved, I hope.” Colonel Brandon completed as he looked to Marianne.

            She nodded with a smile. “It has, yes.”

            Mrs. Dashwood smiled, admiring them. If only all couple’s quarrels could be resolved as such, and so quickly. “Colonel, will you be joining us for supper?” She asked as Betsy laid the tray on Marianne’s lap.

            “If it is not too much trouble, I will accept. Since I will not be allowed near the bride on the morrow or any of her lovely family by consequence,” he smiled.

            “Wonderful!” Her smile was also evident. “Then let us go down to the dinning parlor. You may say your farewells once we are finished. Then Marianne will need her rest.”

            Marianne smiled at Christopher as he bowed to leave the room.

 

            The morning of their wedding was upon them and Colonel Brandon was up before the sun. Many had assured him his bride was in excellent health and spirits and that her collapsing in the rain was but a scare. He himself had written her a note and had it delivered to the Cottage, and had received the sweetest words of reassurance and love in response.

           

            _You were quite right, dearest Christopher. I should have never let such a creature as Fanny influence me with her words. Yet another foolish behavior on my part. I love you completely and feel very confident we will be the happiest of creatures together. I will strive to make you so, at least, and I do hope I succeed. Fret not, nothing can now dissuade me of walking down that aisle and giving myself completely to you. Till tomorrow, my love._

_Your Marianne._

 

           

He had slept, what little his excitement did allow him to sleep, with such note beside him in bed. Excitement and a drop of fear that something could go wrong still agitated his heart. As for Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood, he had avoided them as much as he could, despite the fact he was staying at Barton Park alongside them. He did not wish to see that serpent’s face, for he would not be able to hold his tongue and would speak some of his mind very plainly. That should never be done in the presence of a lady, though that was something she was not. Luckily, the times she was unavoidable, Mrs. Jennings and Sir John were also present, and so he could master his temper.

Colonel Brandon was bathed and dressed in his uniforms when the sun rose. Thank goodness it did, and with it a promise of a cloudless day, for he knew how much Marianne wished for fine weather at the celebratory breakfast.

He forwent the breakfast before church, for he had not the stomach. Nor to hold food, nor to sit with she who had almost ruined his chances for happiness. He was glad Edward arrived early from the Cottage, since he had to leave the ladies to do what they would and prepare the bride. He, bearing no extreme love for his sister, who also had only ill and venomous words about his own wife, and knowing of the finer details of what had happened the day they arrived to find Marianne collapsed in the rain, agreed to walk with the Colonel as the others took their light breakfast and prepared for church.

It was not before long that they were headed down to the parish on foot, having ordered the carriage to follow later, to bring the hopefully newlyweds back for the celebrations.

And as promised, Marianne came and walked down the aisle towards him, head held high, looking at no one but him, bestowing upon him the brightest and most beautiful of smiles, one that lit his heart completely. She looked glorious, angelic, all in white, with her beautiful curls pinned up and adorned in scintillating jewels that held her long veil in place. He silently thanked God for having granted him this most intimate and deepest wish, this most profound happiness.

He could not help but smile as a giddy boy as he held her hands and looked into her eyes, hearing her say she would take him as her husband, saying the same in turn. He only wished he could take her in his arms and kiss her lips right there, to show her how much all he had said and so much more was true. To show her all he felt inside.

Marianne walked out of the church completely joyous. All she could see was her charming husband, in red and white, in his handsome uniform, caressing the hand that rested on his arm and looking down at her with a wide, bright smile, the kind she had gotten to see not so long ago, and that she took pride in thinking existed only for her.

What could she care of who was in attendance or that they threw rice on them as they walked on to the carriage, when there was such felicity to be had as to look into such beautiful hazel-green eyes and feel the warmth of them and of his smile?

She was seated in the carriage as he threw the coins, so merrily. She admired him lovingly. God had been good to her, that even after all her mistakes and foolishness, He had deemed her worthy of finding true, deep, everlasting love as she had always dreamt of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is very.... uhm, satisfying.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, children. Enjoy.

            The celebratory breakfast was beautiful. Not that Colonel Brandon or Marianne noticed, for they had only eyes for one another. If they did not sit at the table side by side, receiving congratulations from others or exchanging sweet words between themselves, they took to the dance floor, where Marianne was reminded of just how lively a five-and thirty man could be, how lively her once solemn and grave husband could be. It was true. He felt as if he were no older than she now that sheer happiness coursed through his veins, and he danced with his wife as he had never danced before.

            The newlywed couple sat at their table, resting from their joyous dancing and beginning to contemplate the idea of going back to Delaford, going home to be alone with one another, when Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood approached them. Colonel Brandon braced himself, trying to master his dislike of them, and Marianne’s smile faded instantly, dreading what horrible comment might be in store for her.

            “Well, I believe congratulations are in order,” John smiled affectedly, as he usually did. Colonel Brandon shook his hand and graciously accepted his well wishes.

            “Yes. And I shall think it jolly to be a guest at Delaford sometime. I do believe I have never laid eyes on the estate,” Fanny said looking at Marianne, obviously awaiting an invitation. “It should be nice to finally be able to know where my brother lives after all.”

            Marianne looked at Christopher and widened her eyes a bit. The thought of having Fanny and John as guests in her new home and having to play the gracious hostess… it was horrid. And so soon after their wedding, since they would no doubt wish to descend upon them as soon as they quit Barton, since a wedding trip was not planned for now, there had been no time. She did not know how to proceed, and she did not wish to embarrass her husband and his name in the first hours of their marriage.

            “Forgive me for bringing you disappointment, Mrs. Dashwood, but I believe such a visit will not be possible,” Colonel Brandon said. Marianne looked at him, puzzled.

            “Oh? And for whatever reason?” Fanny asked.

            “I would not feel comfortable having guests in my home who do not respect or who feel that consorting with my wife may be reason for shame.”

            The Dashwoods looked at each other, astonished and puzzled, as Marianne smiled and discretely squeezed her husband’s hand at her side.

            “We should not wish to impose such a burden as keeping the sort of company you do not approve of on you. Now, if you will excuse us, I believe it is time we head home. Do you agree, Mrs. Brandon?”

            She smiled, warmth overflowing from her heart at hearing such a title. “Yes, I do, Colonel.”

            He took her arm in his and escorted her away from the Dashwoods and towards their carriage.

            They managed to find their kind and obliging hosts and her family to bid them goodbye, and in a few minutes he was helping her into the carriage. Once in the safety of its concealment, Marianne looked up at her husband who sat beside her, and took a hand to his cheek to caress.

            “Thank you, husband,” she smiled, “for what you said to Fanny.”

            “I only spoke the truth.” He smiled as one hand held hers and another dared rest on her waist. He leaned down to kiss her. It began chaste, simple pecks on her lips, which soon turned to their lips interlocking as his suckled on hers, and hers did the same in turn. It was the sort of kiss she most enjoyed, that always made her cheeks flush and warmth spread on her face and neck, as her stomach did flips in her belly. She wondered if now that they were wed, it would still be inappropriate to ask for these kisses, to initiate them herself.

            His hand let go of hers and cupped her cheeks as hers touched his chest, looking for balance, even though she was seated and the carriage did not shake much. It was his kiss that shook her to her very core. Their lips parted and he just gazed down at her, smiling softly, memorizing every line of her face. She flushed even more under his gaze, his hands still holding her cheeks, and her heart stopped beating as her lips trembled when his thumb caressed her bottom lip, his warm and loving gaze still upon her, piercing her eyes, piercing her soul.

            His lips touched hers again, and interlocked with them rather quickly. And then, what she thought could not get better, did. His tongue came forth to caress her lips, and she could not help but to part them further. That allowed him entry into her mouth, and his tongue massaged and roused hers as their lips touched, a most wonderful feeling which made the warmth she felt spread down to her bosom and belly, and it appeared to lower itself further still.

            She quickly learned to move her tongue as his did, and both were caught in a sweet dance, making her breathing grow heavy. Their lips parted as they broke for air and she could not help but utter “Oh, Christopher!” in a hushed tone as he touched his forehead to hers and caressed her cheek.

            She still tried to catch her breath when his lips softly and briefly claimed hers again. “Are you well, my sweet Marianne?” He asked in a low tone, worried that this was too much for her, and was making her far too abashed. Perhaps she had no idea what occurred between man and woman, perhaps she had had only a brief explanation. He was certain, however, that she would encounter at least some surprises as the day – and night – progressed, and she might not wish to go through with all that was introduced to her.

            “Yes. Very much so. I just… I never…”

            He interrupted her incoherent rambling by taking her lips with his again. She happily obliged, this time, daring even to sink her hands into his soft blond hair and caress him.

            And thus they continued on their journey home, stopping very briefly for air and to caress cheeks and hands, ignoring the landscape and the darkening skies. It wasn’t anything they had never seen before after all. And Colonel Brandon was still having a difficult time wrapping his mind around the fact that she was his wife. She accepted him, body and soul, and that he could kiss her so freely, so completely giving himself, and that he had her doing the same, accepting his love, enjoying it.

            The carriage approached Delaford and their lips parted. He smiled as he arranged a couple of her curls that had fallen out of place, and then combed his own hair with his fingers, since he had shown avid affection running her fingers through his hair.

            “Forgive me,” she said running her fingers on her lips shyly, “I did not mean to…”

            “Do not worry yourself, Marianne. I quite enjoy your soft, tender hands in my hair.” He smiled. “And I am yours, to do with as you please, love. Never feel sorry for it.” He still smiled. Then, he leaned in to peck her lips. She blushed as her lips curled shyly upward.

            The carriage halted on the sweep and Colonel Brandon stepped out, offering his hand for Marianne to take as she stepped out to look at her new home. The Colonel lifted her up, and she let out a little yelp in surprise before giggling and clinging to his neck. He carried her through the threshold. In the foyer, all the staff lined up to greet their master and new mistress, even though they already knew her quite well from all the days she had spent there of late. They were quite happy to have such a young and joyful mistress. And what is more important, they were happy to see that the master who had been good to them for so long was finally smiling.

            After Marianne shyly greeted the servants, they filed out and left the foyer, and Marianne was left alone with her husband.

            “What do you wish to do before dinner, my lovely wife?” Colonel Brandon smiled and kissed the back of her hand. “We can go riding, or read… assemble a puzzle perhaps? Though those activities may prove difficult as it will be dark soon. I would give you a tour of your home, but you are very well acquainted with it. Except for maybe most rooms upstairs.” She blushed at this comment and looked down to the floor for a moment, nerves overtaking her. He was indeed trying not to scare her, make her at ease and not force anything. But he could not lie to himself. What he most wished to do was take her to her bedchamber, hopefully _their_ bedchamber if she so chose, and be joined with her as man and woman. To taste her, all of her. “Whatever you wish for, I aim to fulfill.”

            “May I… may I speak plainly?” Asked Marianne bashfully.

            “Always, Marianne.” He held one of her cheeks as his thumb stroked it.

            “I believe I would… like to see your bedchamber,” she whispered the last part, blushing furiously red, “which will hopefully be our bedchamber?” She finished, not daring to look directly to his eyes. Instead, she looked at his lips, his chest. His kissing in the carriage had stirred something inside her she did not quite understand. She just felt the inexplicable need to give herself to him, completely, even though she expected it to be unpleasant and perhaps even hurtful, from what her mother and sister had explained to her. But she knew her husband would never hurt her, not on purpose. If it would please him, she would bear it.

            He looked to her, amazed. After a moment of silence, she dared raise her eyes to his and saw his expression.

            “Are you… Are you cross with me? I shouldn’t have… forgive me. That was very inappropriate.” She felt very confused and inadequate and looked down.

            “Marianne,” his index finger flexed under her chin and lifted her gaze to him, “you must stop apologizing. I love you, completely. You may speak to me however you like, of whatever you like. I am your husband and there are no rules of propriety between us. We are to share our lives, and that means sharing everything we are. I could never be cross with you for speaking your mind, for I love how headstrong and impetuous you are. And I could never be cross due to a request such as that,” he smiled with a spark of excitement in his eyes, “as I very much would like to show you our bedchamber as well,” he whispered.

            He wasn’t sure how to go about it. He did not wish to scare her or have her think it was a duty that must be performed, but he very much had need of her, that instant almost. To taste the pleasures or her soft flesh. Her being so forward certainly solved that problem. It also hampered his insecurities, even if only to a small degree. He was insecure for it was his nature, and he had longed for her for her for many months now… And he had not bedded a woman in quite some time, for what point was there to it if he did not love them and did not know their true heart? There were widows who used him as he them, and in his weakest moments, women who only sought his coin, and he their pleasures. It had happened only a handful of times since he had come home from the Indies to find what he had thought was his one true love at death’s door. Not at all since a couple of years after that. And a good thing that was, for it made him feel as if he deserved the angel that stood before him. The only downside being his nerves affecting him as if he were an untouched and inexperienced boy.

            “Wait for me here, love. This will take but a moment.” He headed through to the dining room and down to the kitchens to give notice that the mistress and he were not to have dinner presently, and that the staff was free to go. Whatever they may need to nourish themselves later, he could provide.

            He came back to the foyer to find Marianne nervously patting down the skirt of her bridal gown.

            “Do you still wish for us… to go upstairs?”

            She was startled for a brief moment, then she smiled shyly as she turned to him and nodded. “Yes. I believe so.”

            He took her in his arms once more and once again she cried out in surprise for the briefest of moments. He proceeded to carrying her up the stairs and down the hall to the best bedchamber in the manor, which had been prepared for her. Once inside, he placed her on the floor so he could close the door. She admired the beautifully decorated, large, warm room in astonishment. Very far from what she had grown used to in Barton Cottage. Her feet would certainly never be cold under such thick covers, and with a fire lit as such. Though the sunlight still faded in the horizon, the candles and fire were already lit in that room. The dutiful staff had seen to it, for the room had to be warm and comfortable when the masters were prepared to retire.

            “Does it please you?” he asked as he approached her from behind and dared to kiss the flesh that her dress exposed, where her neck and shoulder joined. She quivered and leaned slightly back into him.

            “It is beautiful, Chris.”

            “You of course may change whatever does not please you. That includes banishing me from your company.” His lips touched her neck again and his arms wrapped around her waist. “Though I hope you never feel such inclinations.”  
            “I don’t believe… I don’t believe that will be necessary,” she whispered as his lips still lightly kissed her neck.

            She turned, so that her lips could find his. She yearned for those deep, passionate kisses, and that he gave her. As they kissed, his hand gently made its way from her cheek to her hair, and he tenderly unpinned her curls, having her hair fall to her shoulders and her veil to the ground. Still kissing her, he gently pushed her back towards the bed, and as the back of her knees hit the mattress, she sat. He sat beside her, their lips still locked.

            When they broke apart, she smiled timidly and took out whatever pins were still in her curls, along with the jewels that adorned them, and placed them on the bedside table.

            Christopher touched her hair, caressed her curls all the way down to the end, over her shoulder, almost reaching her breasts. She touched his cheek.

            “You are so beautiful, Marianne. I can hardly believe you sit here with me.”

            “Believe it. I am yours.” She smiled. “I love you, Christopher.”

            “I love you, my Marianne.”

            Their intense, passionate kissing recommenced and it was not long before heat consumed her being. His hand slipped from her cheek to her shoulder, then around to her back. He slowly undid a button of her dress, prepared for her to recede in fear. Their lips parted, and she turned her back to him, pulling her hair aside. She need not do or say anything else. He began to slowly unbutton and untie her gown with dexterous fingers. His lips kissed her neck, then trailed their way down to her shoulders, following his fingers closely with soft, tender kisses as more of her skin was uncovered. Her body quickened every time his lips and fingers grazed her.

            She turned to face him once more when her gown was completely unbuttoned, but she held it up across her breasts, still covering herself, a look of slight concern on her face.

            “Chris, I… I want…”

            He was ready to stop it all, soothe her, give her what her heart desired, though he could not lie, he would be disappointed of not being able to carry on. But the tears that threatened to burst forth from her spoke more strongly than that. Before he could speak, she continued.

            “I want you to know… that despite what is said of me… I have never… I have not… you are the only man that has ever even kissed me with such deep desire and passion.” Tears were welling up in her eyes. She felt shame that she had once allowed Willoughby to touch his lips to hers. Once. But nothing more. “I am not... I am not tainted as such.”

            His thumbs caressed her cheeks and dried the tears that threatened to fall. “You could never be tainted in my eyes, my love.” And he kissed her lips again. She could barely resist his tongue caressing hers, his sweet words. She broke the kiss and stood, letting her gown fall to the floor, followed by the stay she quickly untied. He watched with a smile as she stepped out of them, and of her shoes, and sat beside him again, in only her shift and stockings. He began to undo the buttons on his charming red army jacket, and she placed a hand over his.

            “May I?”

            “Yes, you may.”

            She unbuttoned him as he claimed her lips. When his jacket was fully unbuttoned, he pulled it off. She moved back in the bed, to get under the covers as he undid the buttons of his shirt swiftly, a smile upon his lips. Sunlight had finally faded, but the candles burned bright in their room. She watched, excitement mixing with nerves, as her husband pulled off his boots, his upper body already bare.

            He had broad shoulders and strong arms. She very much wished to be wrapped in them. His chest was also muscular, and his stomach lean, certainly advantages of riding and hunting often. She observed quietly from under the covers, a sensation at the pit of her stomach, as if butterflies fluttered in her belly.

            “Do you… are you aware of what this entails? Are you well, and sure you wish to…”

            She nodded. “Yes.”

            He made his way under the covers with her, still in his white trousers, and smiled lovingly as he leaned in to kiss her lips once again, one hand cupping her cheek. That hand was soon traveling down to her arms, her stomach, her thighs, gently gliding over her. It softly pulled down her stockings, his fingers grazing her flesh, making quer quiver. His eyes were fixed on hers as he smiled, and his lips brushed over hers, softly, once or twice.

Then, his hand gingerly slipped under her shift to her center, and as he grazed his fingertips on her mons and inner thighs, his lips locked on hers, she caught herself inadvertently spreading her legs wider apart. It surprised her, for she expected to be utterly embarrassed. But the sensations his lips and fingers caused in her…

            His fingers found a deeper part of her and caressed, and she could not help but whimper into his mouth. Their lips parted and a soft moan escaped hers, and she immediately clasped a hand over it. He smiled and nipped the back of her hand before kissing it, his fingers never quitting the task they performed in her center.

            He rubbed a part of her, her bud of nerves, which she never even knew she had, in such a way that made her moan more loudly against her hand as her breath hitched. He nipped the back of her hand again. “Let me kiss your sweet, beautiful lips, my love.”

            She took her hand away from her mouth, trying to control herself, trying to control her breathing. He kissed her lips and his fingers stopped touching her in the most intimate of places so his hand could glide back up her body, pulling her shift up with it. She held his strong arm and shoulder while he did so. She did not know whether she felt relief that his hand had left her center, for it allowed her to recompose, or if she felt sorrow, for his touch there felt so wonderful.

            His lips parted from hers as he pulled her shift over her head. He stopped for a moment to admire her nude form on his bed. _Their_ bed.

            “Am I not…” she began to cover her breasts with an arm.

            “You are beautiful,” he lay back down, half over her, half on the bed. He placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Perfection.” He kissed her again. “All I have ever wished for,” and again his lips covered hers. “Let me love you, sweet Marianne,” he whispered, and her hands slipped from covering her breasts to holding his shoulders. Once again, his fingers slipped to her center, after danced over her stomach and thighs, and her breathing picked up its pace.

            “Oh, Christopher!” She cried as their lips parted and his fell to suckle on one of her bare breasts. She bit her lips, in an attempt to not be loud again, but her harsh breathing gave her lack of composure away. “Chris… oh Chris,” she whispered as his tongue rolled on her pert nipples. He smiled, joy filling his heart to see that she enjoyed his advances.

            As he verified she was receptive to his caresses, and felt the moisture that filled her and indicated she was ready for him, his hand pulled away from her center to unbutton the fall front of his trousers. “Marianne,” he whispered. “My Marianne. I need you. I need you.”

            She just smiled shyly and nodded, and he placed himself over her and gently, slowly, slipped himself into her. Her fingertips sank into his shoulders. She felt a burn, but as his lips touched hers and his chest pressed against her tender breasts, she once again felt the excitement and pleasure he had triggered in her. She did not know it could be like this.

            “Are you well, love?” He whispered close to her ear once he had filled her completely, and kissed her cheek, then the corner of her lips, his manhood deep inside her. “Does it hurt?”

            “No,” she gasped. “No. I feel wonderful,” she whispered.

            He moved slowly atop her, inside her. And the excitement she felt built into something else, something strong, something more. He moved more, at a slightly quicker pace, and her breathing became increasingly labored. He kissed her lips, his tongue moving inside her as his manhood did, and she could not help but moan and whimper softly through her heavy breaths. Fear of not being proper, of displeasing him with her actions seemed to evade her, not only because he smiled and kissed her tenderly, then passionately, then tenderly again, but because something much bigger grew inside her. It was so overwhelming. So much so that she felt she should stop him, ask him to slow down, but she did not wish to worry him. Especially since it was overwhelming, but in a magnificent way. It did not hurt. She could not explain it. None of this was mentioned to her by her mother or sister, and a slight worry lingered in the back of her mind that it should not happen and that her husband would not be pleased by it. But the enormous wave that built in her struggled with that feeling, wishing to overshadow it. She did not know if she should let it, but felt she did not have much choice.

Her body craved it. Her breathing was extremely labored, though she tried in vain to control it, and she could only whimper and repeat his name as he moved and kissed her and ran his fingers in her hair, looking at her lovingly, smiling, his breathing also labored. Her fingers sank into his shoulder blades.

            “Don’t fight it, love,” he said in a rumble that made her whole body quiver. “Don’t fight it.”

            She felt more at ease with his words, and with the fact that he had noticed her struggle, and immediately something seemed like it would burst inside her, and she could not contain it if she wanted to.

            “Oh Chris… Chris… Chris…” she panted before being pushed over the edge as she gripped one of his shoulders and tugged on his hair. Her whole body tensed in the sweetest way, and she tightened around him, and could not control any of it even if she wished to. Her tightening made him dive right behind her.

            As he regained his breath atop her, his cheek touched to hers, she started.

            “Christopher, forgive me… I do not know what happened…” Her breath was not yet steadied. It was a marvelous feeling, the explosion that had happened, and she felt very at peace for it, so close to him, like she could never be with anyone else in this world. But it had been very overwhelming, and had made her unsure.

            “Did it not feel pleasant, my sweet Marianne?”

            “It did. So much. Yes. But I shouldn’t have… been so… should I?” She was still catching her breath.

            “You should, yes.” He smiled. “I very much enjoyed your sweet voice crying for me so tenderly.” He kissed her lips.

            “Will… will this happen every time?” She asked, abashed, still worried that at any moment she might do or say something wrong to cross him. Be too curious and irk him. Though she did not even know if he had the disposition to be irked. She had never seen it. Not with her.

            “If I am a good husband and perform my duties properly, then yes. Hopefully,” he smiled.

            Christopher rolled to her side, chuckling as she stared at the canopy over the bed, smiling. “I did not know… I was not told… Were you pleased? Are you pleased, with me?”

            He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arm about her. “More than you can imagine, love.” He kissed her forehead and caressed her hair, slightly damp from her exertion. She traced circles on his chest, playing with the faint trail of hair there.

            “I love you, Chris. Thank you, for being so tender and caring, and accepting of me.”

            “Thank you, Marianne. You make me the happiest man on this Earth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding night is not over yet!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive any bad editing. It was a tiring week (already) and I was on the verge of entering dream land when I remembered you all and jumped out of bed to get this to you. Otherwise I would surely have skipped a week, since my days will not be any lighter until next Thursday.

Marianne Brandon slept soundly, but did not sleep for long. Her stomach, rumbling in hunger, soon woke her. Her husband, however, slept peacefully, which is why she remained as still as she could, lying on his bare chest, his strong, comforting arms around her, in an effort to not stir him from his rest.

            She was warm. So warm. Warmer than she recalled being in a while. He had such fine linen sheets and thick, warm covers. Plenty of them. And fur on top of them all. She would never again be cold as she was, cuddled with Elinor in the same bed at Barton Cottage. And the fire, it was lit, to further ensure their comfort. Of course his warm body against her made her very comfortable and warm as well.

            She took the opportunity to quietly observe his bare form beside her. She had never of course seen the male form nude. And her nerves, along with the other sensations he had roused in her earlier that evening, had not permitted her to properly take it all in. But now, calm, rested, satisfied of desires she barely knew she had, she could notice the contours of his muscular arms and his strong, wide chest on which she lay, the scant trail of blonde, fine hair that peppered it.

            The room had been lit before they took to it, even though at that time sunlight still faintly lit the sky. The servants had worked in a hurry, to please their new mistress And it was that candlelight, though faint, for not all candles had been lit, which allowed Marianne to see the scar on his arm and another on his side. Surely there were interesting stories to go with those. She could perhaps hear them later.

            She caught herself tracing the lines that defined some of the muscles on his lean stomach. Who could imagine that riding so often could be such a fine exercise for the male body? There was a trail of fine blonde hair there also, which started below his navel and dipped down into the portion of his form the sheets covered.

            That covered part remained a mystery to her eyes, and stirred her curiosity. She had heard a brief, undetailed description from her mother, for instructive purposes only. She had felt it, not long ago, and the wonders it had worked on her body. But she had not even gotten a glimpse of it.

            Should she dare look? Lift the covers lightly and look. Surely it would not displease him? They were husband and wife now, and that she had not seen it yet must be mere coincidence. A product of the love and urgency he felt to be with her. She distractedly traced her fingers on his stomach as she pondered this, and they slowly began to travel lower, now grazing the small trail of hair below his navel. They reached the hem of the fine covers, tracing it too. Stalling. Creating the courage do to what she wished to.

            “Marianne,” she heard uttered in his low, sweet voice next to the top of her head.

            She was startled and quickly pulled her hand away. “Chris. Forgive me, I did not mean to wake you.”

            “Did you not?”

            She looked up at him hurriedly, still startled and wide-eyed, afraid she had angered him in some form. But all she saw was a sly smile on his lips, his arm still around her shoulder, gently caressing her arm.

            He had been awake for a few moments now, relishing in her exploration of his body, enjoying every light touch, every tracing finger, heart overwhelmed with joy that she seemed to like it, and not be disgusted by the figure of an older man lying beside her. He must confess to himself that he had been dismayed by the idea she could find it hard, find barriers to lay with him.

            “Christopher! Don’t tease me like that,” she smiled shyly as her cheeks blushed. She tucked her face on her hand and against his chest.

            “My Marianne,” his index finger hooked under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. She looked him in the eyes, still bashful. “I am yours, my sweet, and therefore you may touch me wherever you please. I was quite enjoying your exploring hands.” He smiled, and she smiled back, more at ease, placing her hand on his chest again and caressing. He leaned down and claimed her lips softly and slowly for a brief moment. “I should warn you, though, that should your exploration continue further below the sheets, I will need you once again, my love.” He smiled teasingly once again.

            “And… is that a bad thing?” She asked.

            “You will have to be the one to tell me, love. For me it isn’t. Not in the slightest. I would be glad to have you every hour of every day.”

            She tentatively planted a kiss on his chest as her hand slowly glided over the warm, fair skin of his chest and stomach, back to where it was when she had been caught. She traced his skin at the hem of the sheets, not daring to look up to his face, just hearing attentively for any indication of disapproval. One deep breath gave her the courage to push the covers down, gently.

            She observed his shape for a moment before tentatively wrapping her hand around his manhood. A soft grunt escaped his lips. She felt he enjoyed it, and it emboldened her to stroke him gently once. It was not stiff as she had felt it against her center, but as she explored a bit more, her hand now on his strong thighs, traveling upwards to find his bollocks, she witnessed his manhood stiffening at her every touch. Marianne smiled, strangely proud she could cause such a reaction on him. She then remembered all the intense and marvelous feelings she had experienced as his hands explored her, his fingers connecting so intimately with her. She rationalized that should she touch him as such, she could make him feel all the same things. So again her fingers encompassed him and caressed. As he grew in her palm, his grunts and groans soft against the top of her head, she became amazed at how large he was, and how he had fit inside her without hurting her at all. She was so very proud to be causing this to happen, and excitement rolled inside her, low in her stomach. A small part of her still wondered if it was right for her to feel such a thing. She looked up at him, searching for disapproval in his eyes, but she just found love, desire, lust, as his chest rose and fell more heavily beneath her chin.

            “I do not find it bad at all,” she boldly stated as her hand still caressed him.

            He smiled however much his pleasure allowed him to, and his hand lowered, to cover hers and dictate the pressure she should apply and the pace that he preferred. His lips then covered hers, his tongue exploring her mouth, as she took the instructions he silently bestowed on her and caused his breathing to spike.

            Colonel Brandon suddenly turned his beloved wife to lie on her back and hovered over her, his lips still claiming hers in a deep kiss. She lost control of his stiffness as he lowered his kisses to her neck, then her collarbone, to suckle on a breast, his hand gently caressing the other. It was now time for her breathing to become a bit heavy as she fully comprehended that her breasts could give her pleasure, and did not serve only to feed a child.

            His lips lowered further, to her stomach, and she regretted the loss of his warm breath on her cleavage. But that warmth was soon on her mound, before she had even realized it had traveled there, causing her to gasp in surprise.

            “Christopher!” she panted, worried, wondering what he would do, if it was proper, if she was ready for it. She was a bit sore as well, but was told it was normal and should fade the more she gave into her husband’s desires.

            “What… what are you doing?”

            “Do not… worry yourself… love. I believe… you will enjoy it,” he said against her, in between small kisses to her flesh, and smiled.

            He still peppered light kisses on her mound, making her hold her breath. He then opened his mouth and covered her sex with it, and she let out her breath again, along with a small whimper of pleasure. His tongue found her knot of nerves, the same his fingers had caressed earlier, and she could not contain her moan, or her legs from spreading further apart to accept him.

            His kissing on her privates was deep, relentless, causing her to gasp and pant and often moan as her pleasure built once again. She ran her fingers through his hair, gasping his name, and yelped it in surprise when his fingers explored her deeply on the inside, as his manhood had earlier. That wave of pleasure she had so recently learned existed and had just as recently learned not to fight, washed over her more quickly and powerfully than before, leaving her limp and weak beneath him.

            “Oh, Chris!!” She still tried to catch her breath as he peppered kisses on her lower belly, then pulled himself up to do the same on her chin and cheeks. With such kisses he once again slid inside her. “I love you,” she breathed as her heart swelled in her chest, his face in between her hands as he slowly moved inside her.

            “I love you too, my Marianne.” He kissed her lips.

            “Yes… yes… yours. Completely yours,” she panted, her pleasure surprisingly rising in her again.

            He smiled and moved more rhythmically, and it was not long until both their bodies tensed in pleasure to fall limp in ecstasy shortly after. She had been very vocal, and worried about it now that the heat of the moment had passed.

            “Chris… I hope… you do not find me wanton for enjoying this… enjoying you.” She caressed his hair as he lay on her bosom.

            “That you enjoy it makes me happier than you can imagine, my sweet. I want you to enjoy it. I enjoy _seeing_ you enjoy it. I do not wish it to simply be a chore or a wifely obligation for you, though I do understand it is the case for many women, and it is perhaps what you have heard, how you were taught to see it. I assure you, you do not need to do anything you do not wish to. Have no fear in telling me it is so and I shall not touch you.”

            She smiled. “I find it very hard to imagine a time in which I would not wish for you to touch me, Christopher.”

            He looked at her in awe and she blushed furiously, biting her lips timidly as she brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead, since she had no way of escaping his gaze. He smiled, warmth irradiating from his eyes, and touched his lips to hers.

            Her stomach rumbled loudly between them, making her blush once again.

            “It seems I have made you work up an appetite,” he smiled. She just nodded.

            He slipped from under the covers and from their bed and walked to the wall opposite them, to a door that was partly open, vanishing into the dimly lit room. Marianne sat up in bed, and as he walked away, busied herself in admiring his firm buttocks and thighs, smiling. When the time came, should she have the opportunity, she would advise Margaret to wed a rider, she thought to herself with no shyness. Once her husband had disappeared, she held the covers to her bosom and tried to see into the room, with no success.

            “Chris?” She asked, worried. He emerged from the room in a nightshirt.

            “I shall go fetch you dinner, my queen.”

            She smiled, her heart overflowing with tenderness at his sweetness. His hand touched the doorknob.

            “Will you appear as such before the servants?” She asked.

            “There are no servants. I have given them two days of rest, so that we can be completely alone and at ease as well.” He smiled and moved once again to leave.

            “Wait,” she pleaded. “I will go with you then. So you do not have to bring up a tray.” She stepped out of bed and gingerly, bashfully, walked to her chemise, forgotten on the floor.

            “It would be my pleasure to serve you, my lady. Please allow me to.”

            “But… I do not wish to be left here alone. I do not wish to be apart from you,” she smiled, holding the chemise to her bosom, waiting for his consent so she could accompany him. He smiled as well, stretching out a hand for her to take. She did, and he pulled her to him, kissing her deeply and dearly.

            “Then let us go, sweet Marianne.”

            He made his way to the nightstand and picked up a candle on a candleholder, lighting it on one of the sconces that lit the room. While he did so, she pulled on her shift. He held the candle in one hand and his beloved wife’s soft, warm hand in the other, and led her down to the kitchens.

            It was indeed empty, as was the whole house, but the dinner that was prepared for the masters still sat on the stove. Something weighed in her heart at the thought of such a wonderful, loving man being alone in that house, with only the company of servants who surely respected him, but could not give him true companionship as he needed and deserved. She hoped _she_ could give him that. And fill that house with joy and children.

            Christopher lit the fire, to heat the food for them to eat. She sat around one of the large tables in the room as he did so. “You know how to work the stove?”

            “Certainly. I know my way around this kitchen very well.” He smiled and sat beside her. “I found friends and comfort as a child down here.”

            Marianne took her hand to his cheek to caress as she looked to his eyes, glowing in a beautiful caramel color as the candlelight flickered in it.

            “And do not forget, you have wed an army man,” he smiled.

            “Oh, I do not. I always hunger to hear more of your stories.”

            “You shall know all of them, my sweet.”

            She smiled. And for the first time that evening, she was the one to reach for his lips to initiate a kiss. Warmth spread throughout his body.

            Their meal was hot and he served them both. She ate with delight as the single candle he had brought lit their meal.

            “Mrs. Miller is indeed a wonderful cook,” she said.

            “She will be overjoyed to know her mistress approves of her cooking,” he smiled.

            _Mistress_. She was mistress to this all. It was still a very foreign, yet warm feeling, for it meant she stood beside him.

            As they finished their meal and he left the plates and cutlery in the sink for later washing, she asked “Chris, my love?”

            He smiled at the sound of her tender voice calling him that

            “I wondered… if it would be possible for me to take a warm bath?”

            “In this house, you do not ask. You command. I live to serve you.” He took her hand to his lips and brushed them against the back of her hand, then kissed her palm.

            “But you are not my servant, Chris. You are my husband.”

            “Devoted to you completely. And if something as simple as heating water for you to bathe in is what your heart desires, I most certainly will provide it.”

            He moved to heat the water. As he worked, she watched him with much affection. How lucky she was to have had such a wonderful man fall in love with her. She thanked the heavens she came to her senses and to admire and love him as he deserved to be. She could not be happy in this life away from him. She knew this now.

            “Will it be agreeable for you to share a bath with me? So I do not need to heat double the water.”

            “Never will spending any amount of time in your company and being in your arms be disagreeable, my darling.” She embraced him from behind as he watched the water on the stove, and her lips met the linen that covered his shoulders. His hands covered hers on his stomach as he smiled.

            “My heart sings to hear you proclaim such things.” It was true. He could not be happier. He had never been. His heart leapt in his chest.

            “I would love to bathe with you and have you scrub me,” she smiled shyly against his back. He hummed in approval.

 

            He carried the water up to their room, to what she assumed was his dressing room. It was where he had disappeared into to fetch his nightshirt. And the few candles lit there allowed her to see an armoire, a chest of drawers and a chair, in addition to a pair of boots in a corner, and a shirt like the ones he wore hung on the armoire door.

She led the way, carrying the candle, lighting his way. In more ways than one. He poured the water into the tub and stepped inside first, after pulling his nightshirt off, to test that the temperature was adequate and would not scald her. He sat and smiled, as he reached his hand to her.

            Still rather shyly, she pulled off her shift in the dimly lit room. She caught the glistening of desire in his eyes and a mixture of pride and excitement filled her. She took his soft yet strong hand and stepped into the tub, in between his legs, and sat with her back to his chest. He took a cloth from the edge of the tub and commenced to scrub her back gently, her arms, her legs and chest. It took much self-restraint to not take her again right there. She inflamed such emotions in his being as he never had experienced.

            When both were properly scrubbed and clean, they just laid back, Marianne in her husband’s arms, one crossed over her breasts, the other hand caressing her thigh as he smelled her bewitching scent in her curls.

            “Is it awfully improper if we bathe together every day?” She asked.

            He chuckled. “Not at all. It may be more time consuming…” he said in a mischievous tone.

            “You are a really good husband,” she said, “Constantly spoiling your wife.”

            “My sole purpose in this life is to make you as happy as could be, my sweet Marianne. Anything in my reach I will provide for you.”

            “You make me happy by simply being yourself, sweet, wonderful, Chris.”

            There in each other’s arms they remained until the water ran tepid.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again you guys are catching up to me... I got to get writing!

            Marianne slowly came to consciousness, though she did not open her eyes. She could feel the sun shining on her face through the slightly open curtains. It warmed her skin and made her see bright white under her eyelids. She could also feel Christopher’s – her husband’s – body close against her back, his arms weighing on her waist, not in an uncomfortable way. His breathing was slow, calm and low next to her ear, and just his presence there warmed her, aiding the thick covers that lay over them both. It was so comfortable. She looked forward to sleeping as such every night for the rest of her life. Waking up like this was also very pleasing.

            Suddenly, she could feel his nose rubbing on her cheek, neck and shoulder while he took deep breaths, taking in her sweet scent. She smiled and snuggled further back into him. Then he peppered tender kisses on her cheek and neck, and behind her ear. She sniggered as she opened her eyes.

            “Good morning, Mrs. Brandon,” he said in a low rumble that shook her to her core. His voice… it was truly enough to make a lady’s thoughts drift into improprieties. Her heart warmed at the sound of his voice and of being called Mrs. Brandon.

            “Good morning, Mr. Brandon,” she smiled.

            His hand caressed her stomach, his fingers going to and fro lightly, tickling her a bit, and refraining from doing what they truly wished to, which was to explore her body once again, as he had the previous night. But he did not wish to scare her by showing himself too eager. Little did he know that she too was hungry for him, afraid to show too much eagerness as well.

            “Did you sleep well, my love?” Christopher asked.

            “I do not think I have ever slept so well,” she said as she turned to face him and caress his cheek. She wished to kiss his lips, but was reluctant for some reason, and winded up kissing his chin instead. He smiled and lowered his lips to hers, taking them softly.

            “What would the lady of the house wish to have for breakfast?” His large hand pushed back her curls gingerly.

            “I shall get dressed and we will descend for breakfast,” she said, a little dismayed that no other activity would take place before their meal.

            “No. I am to bring you breakfast in bed, for I live to serve you,” he said with a smile.

            She pulled his lips back to hers, holding his cheeks, fingers sinking into his hair. They shared a slow, passionate kiss that almost progressed to something more, something they both wanted but refrained from doing.

            “Whatever my husband sees fit in preparing, I shall eat gladly,” she stated with a smile once they parted.

            “Very well,” he said before kissing her nose. It was a good thing that he had had breakfast with her on a few occasions already, and therefore had a good understanding of what she preferred. “Rest a while longer and your breakfast shall be brought in no time, my sweet.”

            He rose and left the room. His nightshirt had already been on his body since they got out of the tub the previous night. Marianne stretched as she contemplated how completely in bliss she was. She smiled, simply staring at the canopy above the bed for a few minutes before thinking it would be best to go choose a dress for the day at least, for she did not even know where her things had been placed, or if she would need to sort them. She just knew that as she left to go to the Church and give herself to her now husband, a carriage arrived to collect her things and bring them ahead of time to Delaford.

            She touched her feet to the hardwood floors, and decided to explore the door to what she assumed was a dressing room, located beside the bedside table. The door on the opposite wall had been where they had bathed the previous evening, and she had not seen lady things there, only the attires of a gentleman. So it was obviously his dressing room. And it was not likely they would share it. So it was only logical this one would be hers. On the way, she picked up her wedding dress and underthings that had been left on the floor the previous evening.

            She opened the door to find a marvelous room, covered in cream colored wallpaper, striped in a lighter and darker shade. The ample window let in so much light. There was a tub for her as well, and on most of the floor, a soft cream fur carpet. On the dressing table, she saw a large jewelry box, very different from the one she owned, that held only two pairs of earrings her father had given her, and a bracelet for her coming out. But she recognized her hair brushes and powder set up neatly on the table. What seemed to be a soft, comfortable armchair, also in the color cream, was sat near the window, and another next to the tub. There was a high chest of drawers on the wall opposite the door and dressing table, and an ample armoire as well, which her heart begged her to inspect.

            Marianne stepped on the fur carpet, rejoicing in the feel of it between her toes, and strode up to the armoire. She opened it, expecting to find it vastly empty, since she did not own much more than five dresses that she saw as still in acceptable condition to take with her to stride around as mistress of this place. But her eyes surprised her. The wardrobe was almost filled. Her few, simple dresses could be found in there, yes. But many, many more could also be seen, in various colors and textures of fabric, all highly agreeable. Some – most – were simple, though not as simple as the ones she owned previously, but surely to be worn in her everyday life nonetheless. But others… others were magnificent. The kind she could wear to assemblies in London and not be looked down upon by any one, not even by a lady with 50 thousand pounds to her name.

            She dropped the things she had carried there to further inspect her discovery. They were all so very lovely. And they would fit her perfectly. It all overwhelmed her, the feeling of joy, and of love for Christopher. That he would treat her as royalty like this…

            She then thought to open the large jewelry box on the dressing table, larger than the one she had ordered to be brought. Her few pieces of jewelry, bestowed upon her by her father, were there. But so were a few new ones. At least 3 more pairs of earrings, two bracelets and two necklaces. She did not know it, but her husband intended on bestowing upon her many, many more pieces. Her hand came to clasp her lips, muffling the gasp that escaped them. Her eyes filled with tears, joyous tears, as her cheeks flushed very red. If she were to open the drawers on the chest, she would find new shawls and bonnets, and the drawers in the dressing table held adorned hair pins, all to further excite her emotions. But she had not the time.

            Christopher had walked into their bedchamber carrying a tray with fruit, toast, eggs and tea. Upon seeing she was not in bed, and after searching around the room, he saw her dressing room door open. So he placed the tray on a small table next to the window and went in to inspect. He found her in tears, hands clasped to her lips, still looking around the room in amazement.

            “What is the matter, angel? Is something not to your liking?” He rushed to her, the fear that happiness would fall to pieces – an old friend of his – pounding in his chest. What if she had been pretending all along and now could not bear it any longer? “If it is not to your liking, you can always change everything, Marianne,” he tried.

            She shook her head. “It’s perfect, Chris, my love. Absolutely perfect. It is more than I even… you needed not do this!”

            “I just wish to make you happy, as you deserve to be, light of my life.” He caressed her cheek with a light thumb.

            “Just being your wife is enough to make me the happiest woman in the world. You need not spoil me.”

            “Yes, I do.” He smiled, still caressing her cheeks. “Though those words are heavenly to hear.”

            Marianne wrapped her arms around him and rested her ear on his beating heart. He held her close to him in turn, his chin resting on her golden curls.

            “How is it possible that all those dresses fit me perfectly?” She asked, still holding him.

            “I had the help of a spy.”

            She pulled away to look in his eyes, confusion dancing in hers. His lips curled up in a shy way.

            “You will recall Mrs. Jennings accompanied you to the fitting for your wedding gown.”

            “Yes. She was kind enough to pay for the gown.” Her eyes darted shyly away from him, to the wall behind him.

            “She was kind enough to also take note of your measurements and inform them to me. I am also very surprised she did not let the secret slip, so you could be surprised.”

            There was a moment of silence in which Marianne tried to control her rising urge to ask him to bed her again, and he did not quite know what it was that crossed her mind.

            “I can return or replace anything you wish to have replaced, anything that displeases you,” he tried, as to break the silence that unnerved him. “You will also, of course, add to it what you…”

            Marianne’s hands reached for his cheeks and pulled him down to her, his lips covering hers. He claimed them fervently, the unexpectedness of it all making something stir in his lower belly.

            “I love you,” she said breathlessly against his lips, before joining hers to them again.

            “And I, you, my angel, my Marianne.” He said once they parted.

            She stepped further away from him, and took a deep breath to with it breathe in some courage. She pulled off her shift, exposing her bare body to him, in hopes she would not have to put into words what it was she needed, hoping also that he would not be displeased.

            He admired her, lust dancing in his eyes, and she watched as his excitement grew under his nightshirt.

            “Breakfast will get cold,” he said as he grinned, and warmth filled her heart and her body to think she could cause such quick reactions in him, and such a beautiful smile.

            “What care I of it? As long as you are willing to keep your wife warm.” She blushed so very crimson being bold as such.

            “Always,” he grinned, and pulled her close, lifting her to carry in one swift movement, heart overflowing with joy of seeing this glimpse of the Marianne he first knew, who spoke her mind freely and boldly, and to whom love should know no restraints.

            She giggled as she was carried by him, and when he placed her in bed, she reached up to help him unburden himself of his nightshirt. He then admired her as she lay in bed, looking up to him with crimson cheeks, excited with the prospect of what was to come, and also slightly abashed of how he admired her nude form with love and desire. His lips lowered to hers and before they brushed against them, she smiled. Then he tenderly commenced to rouse her lips, and hers responded with the same amount of tenderness and passion.

            “I love you, Chris. I love you,” she whispered in his ear as he lowered his lips to her neck.

            “I love you,” he said against her collarbone now, as his hand slid down her shoulder and cupped her breast softly.

            Marianne hummed her appreciation as her hand grazed up and down his back and sides. It wasn’t before long that his lips fell to her breast, planting a few kisses on its flesh, then covering what he could of her full bosom with his mouth. She gasped and moaned as she felt his warm, wet breath on her, his tongue teasing her nipple, making it pert and making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

            His hand reached her privates as his lips still suckled on her breast, and her moan was louder the moment his fingers sunk into her valley, finding moistness, which he spread onto her knot of nerves, making the sensation of his rhythmic caresses seem amplified a hundred times over.

            “Oh! Chris! Chrisss…” She let slip through her lips in hushed tones, repeatedly. She could not help but spread her legs apart, not even noticing she did it, not even caring for propriety or not seeming wanton.

            Her fingers sank into his hair, encouraging his hungry kisses on her bosom, and all the while she felt his stiffness against her thigh, craving that it substitute his fingers. Not that his digits displeased her in the slightest, though.

            She felt her breathing grow heavy and that feeling in her lower belly mount, as it had the times before. Midway through the rise, his lips came to meet hers and his fingers abandoned their work. She could only whimper into his hungry, yet tender mouth. But the feeling of abandonment and emptiness did not last long as he quickly aligned himself with her center, filling her emptiness slowly, joining them as one most deliciously.

            She bit her lip as he slid into her, closing her eyes and rolling her head back. He rejoiced in the sight of it. It still burned a bit, him invading her, but her utter need for him far surpassed her discomfort. When he filled her up completely, she opened her eyes and smiled, appreciative of his tender pecks to her chin and cheeks as he began to slowly move inside her.

            “Are you well, Marianne?” He asked amidst his own ragged breathing.

            “Very well,” she smiled and held onto his shoulder blades as she dared hook her heels behind his thighs.

            This encouraged him to increase the rhythm of his movements while looking deep in her eyes. She nodded her consent before pulling his lips down to hers, her tongue immediately begging for admittance into his mouth, his invading hers in turn.

            She did not hold back as she had the previous night, having been encouraged by him so many times, with so many gestures. So her pleasure built faster, and freely.

            “Chris… Chris… Chris…” she panted, and the sound of her sweet voice moaning his name made him more excited still, along with her hips moving hungrily against his. She did not intend to do it, but it came naturally and she could not control it.

            He moved his hips just the right way, and her pleasure reached its peak, making her plummet over the edge.

            “Yeeeesss,” she moaned as her body exploded in sweet sensations, his low grunts in her ear and the feeling of him coming undone as well in her grasp only serving to make her feel even better.

            They were trying to recompose their breathing to the natural rhythm when she remembered his words from the previous night, about making her feel this, always, if he was a good husband. “You are a very good husband indeed,” she dared tease.

            He still panted atop her, and so a chuckle could be heard in her ear, followed by a sweet nibble on it. “I hope your opinion is always so, my love.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a bit late. My computer died.  
> But it's healed now (I hope) and here we are with some fluff and smut.

Breakfast was cold, of course. But their tea was still warm, surprisingly, which was all that mattered, in truth. They ate it all, cold as it was, for their prior activity had made them famished. They sat at the small table in the bedchamber where the food had lain all this while, only their night clothes on, and fed each other pieces of fruit, cold toast and eggs, enjoying every bite. Their enjoyment was obvious for they smiled for the whole duration of their meal.

            Christopher proposed she then take a tour of her new home, a proper one, seeing every square inch of it, all the rooms she had not yet seen. She of course accepted, saying she would be happy to go wherever he led her. So both went to their respective dressing rooms to get ready.

            Marianne was joyous to lay eyes upon her new dresses once more, and chose one of them, a midnight blue one, to wear on this day. She wished to look beautiful, even though he would most likely be the only one who would lay eyes upon her today, since the servants were away. _Especially_ because he would be the one laying eyes upon her. She used her new pins with sparkling stones adorning them to pin up her hair, and dared don one of the small, simple gold earrings that now lay in her jewelry box. She found the shawls and bonnets and had to exert much self-control not to cry again in joy and astonishment at how tender and loving her husband was. She chose a shawl, a cream one that would go well with her dress, for the season was changing and it started to get a bit chilly. Christopher finished getting dressed before she did, and arrived at her door just in time to help her button up her dress.

            “You are stunning, love,” he whispered from behind, his warm breath on her earlobe before his teeth grazed it. His able hands were quickly buttoning her dress, already thinking of the time he would be buttoning it down. Marianne smiled and giggled, happy as could be.

            They walked hand in hand down the halls of the upstairs of the manor, fingers intertwined. He showed her every single one of the bedchambers in their house, as well as a study and a cozy sitting room that were available upstairs. Said sitting room had ample windows that gave a magnificent view of the back garden and a good portion of the estate.

            Most of these rooms had been closed off for years, being of no use to a lonely old man. Only recently had some been open, to accommodate herself and the rest of the Barton party on their visits before the wedding. And now, all of them were made presentable for the mistress’ inspection, so she could later give command of what was to be done with them. That much was constantly repeated to her by him, who made her feel like queen of a castle as he showed her all, taking her hand to his lips every so often so he could brush them upon her soft skin. He also planted kisses on her cheeks and lips, making their walkthrough take longer than it need be. She adored every moment of it.

            Once downstairs, he took her to all the rooms she already knew. The drawing and dining rooms, the breakfast parlor, his study, the library, with their unfinished puzzle sat on the table still. The only novelties being a small glass solarium to one side of the house, where she thought it would be merry to take their breakfast and tea when it was just the both of them. He quite agreed.

            The last room on that floor they entered was the music room, which she was also very familiar with. But upon entry, she immediately saw something new. The old curtains, dark green with old fashioned patterns, and of a rather dull fabric, had been replaced by a vivid and plain red velvet, like she had suggested. It really went so much better with the cream wallpaper, which had golden vines traced all over it. And it did more justice to the beautiful instrument which was the center of the room. It turned out exactly as she had imagined.

            “Is it to your liking, Mrs. Brandon?” he uttered in a sweet tone behind her, a smile upon his lips as he watched her admiring her work.

            “Very much, yes.” She turned to face him. “Do you like it? It should please you as well. It is your house after all.”

            Christopher pecked her lips before answering. “I love it,” he said, arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. “And it is _our_ house, my darling, for everything that is mine, is yours. Officially.” He smiled, as did she.

            He then finally took her to the kitchens, so she could see them in daylight. There was no fuss of staff, so he could be free and unabashed with his wife. Fortunately, none of them need live in the rooms reserved for staff at the manor, preferring to live at the village. Therefore, Christopher was free to prepare luncheon for himself and Marianne. It was simple, only one course, but it tasted wonderful, as Marianne would passionately profess to him as she regretted not being able to cook much more than toast.

            The afternoon took them to the back garden. Christopher carried a towel to lay in the shade of one of the fruit trees, so they could sit and simply enjoy each other’s company and conversation, and perhaps, caresses.

            They did feed each other fruit as dessert, and, as was to be expected, the fruit was deliciously juicy, wetting their lips. They dutifully helped each other, kissing each other’s lips and chins clean amidst smiles. Colonel Brandon especially was eager to not let anything stain his wife’s new dress.

            His passionate, deep kisses began to take the wind off her. He devoured her unabashedly, for her boldness in her dressing room earlier that day told him he could act as so, that she very much enjoyed being with him as a woman, as a wife. He was not wrong. Still, she worried she would be excessively improper. A worry she could not help, ever since being made the fool before all of London. Ever since acting so abominably before his very eyes.

            “Chris…” she called, breathlessly in between kisses, “you really ought to stop teasing me.”

            “Do you not enjoy it?” He asked with a shy smile before once again claiming her lips.

            “Yes… yes,” she gasped as he moved his kisses to her neck. “But perhaps… I enjoy them too much. More than a lady should.”

            “No such thing,” he whispered with his velvet voice in her ear, and resumed his kissing. Her whole body quivered, and she braced herself on his shoulders.

            “It leads to me… wishing to… do unladylike things, Christopher,” she said in a hushed manner.

            “I am so very glad,” he whispered with some malice next to her ear. Once again her body quickened and all her hairs stood on end. He nipped her ear.

            “Chris!” She let out, as if berating him.

            “I am here to fulfill your every need, my beautiful, wonderful Marianne, my love, my darling,” he uttered, laying her upon the towel. “You need not feel ashamed of it, any of it. I am your husband, and I love you. And I need you, much more than you could ever imagine.” His lips claimed hers as his fingers deftly and tenderly undid the strings in front of her bosom. “This is natural. An expression of love. And I love that you enjoy it.” He smiled.

            “I do. I do,” she said, a bit more relaxed, as she held his cheeks. He pecked her lips, then let his lips fall to the small portion of her breasts that he had made exposed.

            “Chris,” she gasped. “We are outside!”

            “And no one else is here. Nor will they show,” he said against her breasts. It was one of the privileges of having a walled garden, he came to think. And he was now extremely glad he had given the staff the day off, though he had done so at first thinking only of cooking for her, pampering her for a while, and making her feel more relaxed in her new home.

            He slipped his hand under her skirts and grazed it up her bare thighs while still kissing her breasts. When it reached her sex, he could feel it warm and moist, craving him. He was filled with delight. As a long digit found her bud of nerves, a loud moan escaped her lips amidst her whimpers. She could not control it. He lifted his lips from her heaving bosom and smiled, locking them together with hers, so her moans could be muffled by his tongue as he continued to rub her below her skirts, on her sensitive knot. She gripped his shoulders, and when his fingers sank into her, she could not help but part from his lips and gasp his name.

            “You are so beautiful, my Marianne,” he rumbled, as she gasped and rolled her head back with his touch.

            He enjoyed it so. She made him feel young, reckless, as if he were closer to her age. Never would have he imagined he would be so bold as to seduce her in the shade of a tree, under the God-given blue skies, with nothing but the tall hedges to shield them, even if she was his wife. But such was his love and desire for her, and excitement for her utter acceptance of him.

            She would never have imagined him capable of this either, a mere few months ago. This only proved her first judgment of him to be so very wrong. It also proved that true love should be as she had always imagined: so strong and great that nothing could truly contain it, certainly not some rules imposed by a controlling society. He made her feel like she could truly be herself around him.

            Her desire and lust grew to a point where she could not restrain herself. Remembering he had not minded her intimate touch the previous night, she reached for his manhood, covered by his trousers, and felt that it fought to be released. It had grown, and strained further for freedom at her touch.

            She looked him in his hazel-green eyes, looking for signs of disapproval, but there were none. Just desire burning in them, along with love, so much love. His fingers pleasured her in just the right way to make her close her eyes and bite her lips for a moment. She then proceeded in unbuttoning the fall front of his trousers and releasing him from his prison. She did not caress him long at all, for he quickly positioned himself in between her legs, guiding his stiffness into her warmth.

            He moved more avidly than he had wished to, but could not help himself, for his desire was too great. He wished to further pleasure her, slowly. But no matter, for she responded well to his pace, making it her own, moving in synchrony with him, at an increasing pace until both their pleasures overtook them completely, leaving them breathlessly lying beside each other on the picnic towel. They held hands as their chests still rose and fell rapidly, and he took hers to his lips to kiss, both still panting and smiling.

            When he was more or less composed, having already closed his fall front, he turned to her to tie the strings on her dress. He did so as he kissed them tenderly. She ran her fingers through his soft hair, smiling. He ended the process with a prolonged, deep his to her lips.

            They decided to go back to the comfort of the manor. As Christopher carried the towel and held her hand, guiding her towards the house, she stopped at the top edge of the steps to the patio, and turned away from the house, from him, to watch the sun on the horizon lighting their garden in shades of orange.

            “Marianne?” he asked close behind her, a touch of worry in his tone.

            “Do you recall when I first visited Delaford, Chris?”

            “Of course. I was nervously expecting you, hoping it would all be to your liking.” He embraced her from behind, and she smiled as she settled back in his arms.

            “I stood at this very spot, marveled by the beauty of the gardens. After Mrs. Jennings’ comment about the curtains, which had embarrassed me close to death, my mind wandered off, and I could see myself here, watching the sunset with your strong arms wrapped around me, just so. And in that vision, I was so incredibly happy. But it was only a dream back then, one I did not think could come true. Then you came up to me and called my name in that soothing voice of yours, and I was so abashed, as if you could read my thoughts. And now here I am, just as I had imagined. But not as happy as in that vision, no.” His heart sank a bit and he was about to inquire what he had done wrong when she completed her thoughts. “I am happy far beyond what I could have ever imagined.”

            His heart swelled with love and warmth. He rubbed his nose on her cheek and neck, gingerly. “It warms my heart to think that at that time already you thought of being mine.”

            “I did,” she reached her hand around to caress his hair, “and I thought you could never love me.”

            “But I did, with all my heart, for the longest time. And I still do.”

            “And I was right, for just sitting here in your embrace is enough to make me the happiest of women.”

            He let go of her and began to unfold the towel. He placed it on the steps, and offered his hand for her to support herself as she sat. He then sat behind her, a leg on either side, his arms wrapped around her. They fit perfectly with each other.

            “Then here we shall sit, watching the sunset, my love,” he whispered in her ear.


	29. Chapter 29

The next few days passed by smoothly enough. On the second day Marianne was Mrs. Brandon, the newlywed couple made an effort of parting from the comfort and solitude of the manor to take a stroll around the village and introduce the new mistress to those who had not met her and would care to. It also allowed all to congratulate their master on his newfound happiness. The Ferrars were of course adamant they take tea at the parsonage, and there was no protest to be heard on the part of the Brandons, as the Colonel very much enjoyed Edward’s company and conversation, as well as his new sister’s, Elinor, and Marianne of course loved her sister and brother very well.

            The staff returned to the manor on that same day, and Marianne began to try her hand at managing such a household. She found she could always count on her sister for advice, naturally, having been the one effectively managing Norland as their farther fell ill and Mama became absorbed in preoccupation at his side. But her most pleasant surprise was that the governess, Mrs. MacCarthy was a very gentle and sweet woman, and was not irked at all with Marianne’s lack of experience, as Marianne would expect. She patiently went through the daily routine of it all, happy to accept the few suggestions Marianne dared make. Any time the new mistress needed guidance, she would gladly offer it as well.

            A more pleasant surprise still was that Christopher enjoyed hearing about such things and offering his opinion. She knew that there were men who were not interested in the slightest in such things, as it was a woman’s duty and she should know how to handle all herself, for men were too occupied and tired from their business to meddle with those matters. And Christopher, having taken care of it all on his own for years, she would certainly have thought he was tired of it. But she should have known better. She should have known her Christopher would be sweet, and the complete opposite of other men.

            Marianne also found, over the next few days, that the household ran perfectly without her, and very much to her liking. Of course it did, for it had been run by the best of men for years. Mrs. MacCarthy was a blessing as well. So she found there wasn’t much she could do.

            One day, at the end of that week, having done all the sewing she could take for the day in the morning, and not feeling particularly in the mood to read or take a walk, at least not alone, Marianne knocked upon the door to her husband’s study. It was open, but still she knocked, to make herself noticed. He looked up from his writing and smiled sweetly upon seeing her.

            “Hello, love,” he declared, and she closed the door behind her so they could dare share a kiss without being seen by any servant. But the servants were getting very quickly used to closed doors and sweet whispers in Delaford manor.

            Marianne walked around the table and leaned down to kiss his lips. “Hello, my darling,” she smiled. “Am I disturbing you?” She made her way back to the chair across from him and sat.

            “Never. Is something the matter? Or shall I just rejoice in the fact you wish for my company?” He smiled.

            “I always wish for your company, Christopher! I would like to sit here a while, yes, if you will not protest to it.” She pouted a bit. “I promise to be quiet.”

            “What is it, love?”

            Marianne shook her head.

            “I know you well enough to know that something troubles you.”

            She blushed pink and smiled timidly. “Nothing of significance, I assure you.”

            “And yet… I wish to know.” He placed his quill in the holder and crossed his fingers over his stomach, covered in a very nice dark blue waistcoat.

            Marianne sighed. “I just feel… a bit idle, is all. Everything in this household runs perfectly well without me.”

            “No greater lie has ever been told. You are of key importance to this household, my precious Marianne.” He reached over the table and took her hands in his. “Now that you have lived and breathed here, and it has been affected by your touch, you are essential to it. Without you, all would wither and die. Myself especially.”

            Marianne smiled sweetly, cheeks burning red. “You are too sweet, Chris.”

            “I only speak the truth.” He took his lips down to her hand and kissed her warm skin.

            “What were you doing?” She asked after a moment or two. “Before I interrupted so rudely, that is.”

            “Just tending to the finances. And you did not interrupt. You only brought joy to my very dull task.”

            She smiled. After a moment of silence, she spoke. “You know, Papa would love to talk of such tasks. I believe he missed having a son in the house, and so he would try to teach us about business, and the handling of the estate.”

            Colonel Brandon listened intently, smiling softly at her. She continued.

            “Elinor would listen and sit with him, and she learned quite a lot, which is why she took over doing the books after he passed, and was in charge of managing what little we had to live off.”

            Marianne caressed the feather of a quill, then played with an ink bottle.

            “I, on the other hand, obnoxious as ever, did not give poor Papa the time of day. I very much regret that. It was more time I could have spent with him, and a skill I could have learned to better help Mama when Elinor wed, and to now have the means to talk to you about it, and be of use in some way.”

            She looked down at the ink bottle in her hand, looking disappointed, tilting it this way or that.

            “Marianne,” he called softly, and she looked up at him. He was smiling, and flexed his index finger repeatedly, calling her to go to him. That she did, and once she was beside him, he pushed himself and the chair he sat on away from the table, exposing his lap, making enough room for her.

            “Sit,” he said, the sweet smile on his face now mixed with a touch of mischief. “Chris! Someone might walk in!”

He pulled on her arm gently and she fell into his lap, giggling. He then took said arm and trailed kisses all the way to her palm, gently. Slowly. “They will not. It is not tea time. I am not expecting anyone. Are you?”

            “No,” she sniggered as he once again kissed her palm.

            “Then there you have it.” He kissed her neck. “And should someone walk in, they will only see a married couple doing nothing shameful or scandalous. A husband teaching his wife how their estate is run.” He tapped his index finger to the book he wrote on before she walked in, which contained several columns. She turned her gaze to it to see.

            “Quill in hand, my sweet,” he said, and she got more comfortable in his lap, facing the table now, and sitting on only one of his legs, so he could see the book as well.

            “Write down our income here,” he pointed to where she should do it. She stopped for a moment, thinking, biting her lips, and he chuckled. “It is very nice to know you indeed did not marry me for money, for you do not even know how much we possess.” He kissed her shoulder.

            She gasped, feigning outrage. “Had you any doubt?! I am insulted, sir!”

            He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her in place as he nibbled her ear, making her quiver. “I only jest, my sweet.”

            Colonel Brandon proceeded to telling her the amount she should write down, and she dipped the quill in ink and did. He then told her of a few business deals he had acquired that had given them a bit more earnings, and she dutifully discriminated them all, writing them down below the main earnings.

            “Now, down this column we write the elements of our expenses. We should start with the essentials and most important and constant, such as the staff’s salaries, and only after that is seen to should we add other expenses and allow ourselves to indulge, provided there is enough money left.”

            She nodded, demonstrating she understood, and he carried on, listing the expenses with the estate as she neatly imprinted them on the books. After a while of doing so, she was still very interested in continuing. He, however, lost focus on the task at hand, for her scent in his nose was intoxicating, as was the warmth of her body on his. He began to slowly caress her arms up and down with light hands, planting a kiss here or there, on her shoulders, neck and arms.

            “Christopher… you will cause me to write something down incorrectly or smudge the page!” she warned, for she quivered with every one of his touches.

            “I believe there has been enough learning done today,” he said softly, and took the quill from her hand, placing it on the holder. And it was done at a good time too, for the only thing left to disclose were his expenses with doting on her, and he did not wish her to know how much was spent on her jewelry and new dresses and feel he had done too much. She deserved it all.

            He pulled her legs to the side, so her face could be turned to him, and he could take her lips with his, ardently. After a long, deep, fervent kiss, their lips parted, and she gasped as she clung to his neck.

            “Chris… what if someone had come in?”

            He said nothing and moved to close the book that lay on the table, only to hoist her by the waist to sit upon it. He stood before her, claiming her lips once more, his hands on her cheeks. “Do not move,” he said when they parted.

            Colonel Brandon walked around the wide desk and to the door, turning the lock on it before returning to her.

            “Chris…” she said in a warning tone, but excitement pulled in her belly at the thought of being taken right there.

            One of his hands cupped a cheek as the other ran up her thigh, pulling her skirts up. He kissed her lips again. “Ask me to stop,” he rumbled as their foreheads touched in between kisses, his breath hot on her lips and cheek, his hand finding its way to her center.

            “I… cannot,” she let out breathlessly, her breath mixing with his as his lips remained parted next to hers, nose gently rubbing on hers and her cheek, as his hand caressed the inside of her thighs and could already feel her heat for him.

            “Why not?”

            “Because I want you, Chris. I want you.”

            He smiled and pulled her lips to his once more, his hand at her center, teasing the curls on her outline gently, causing her to whimper into his mouth.

            On the next time their lips parted, he sat down on the chair behind him, and she gave him a puzzled look for a brief moment. He then lifted her skirts over his head and she understood what he was to do. That which she had so enjoyed on their wedding night and he had not repeated since. She was afraid he maybe did not enjoy it, and was reluctant to ask and make him cross, though he was quickly making her see she could indeed come to him with any matter. She feared the truth of his answer might embarrass her. Or worse, that he would do it with no enjoyment to himself, just to please her. It was never talked of to her, and she wasn’t sure if it was right, allowed, if it should be enjoyable. Many aspects of intimacy still confused her.

            He leaned down and kissed her center, his tongue exploring her as it had done her mouth. She breathed in a labored manner through her nose, biting her tongue and lips to not emit a sound. He found the lack of indicatives of enjoyment strange and discouraging, and was pulling away from her, to be rid of the cover her skirt provided, so he could see what was the matter, when her hand, of its own accord and without her consent of course, held his head to her. It was all the encouragement he needed.

            He enticed her to her limit and could not bear another minute without that warmth and moisture he felt on his lips around his manhood. So he hurriedly undid his fall front as he licked her, pulling away from her without leaving room for her to protest – though she now would not, since the fact she would have such an attitude and behavior had briefly horrified her.

            She saw him sitting there before her, his manhood stiff and ready for her, need burning in his eyes, and she instinctively lowered herself from the table and mounted him, letting him guide his stiffness into her, to fill her void, as her need was great as well. Only when she was joined to him did she realize they had never been in such a position before. She did not quite know what to do.

            But her aching for him was so great that once he completely filled her, she began to slowly rock herself, instinctively, bracing herself on his shoulders and on the back of the chair. He held her hips with one hand, aiding her movement, as the other caressed her cheek.

            “You are so gorgeous, my darling,” he said as he tenderly gazed upon her face, which softly contorted in pleasure.

            She claimed his lips, finding the right rhythm for her movements, ripping grunts from his lips into hers. Her pleasure was building fast, her lust already too great from the oral attention he had bestowed on her. He kissed her neck, and his heavy breathing next to her ear served to arouse her further. She dared nip his earlobe, mimicking what he had done so many times to her, not sure he would enjoy it, and after she nipped she sucked on it. With that, he pulled her to move faster against him, and her pleasure peaked, as she bit his neck to not emit a sound. Having had her pleasure, her body still limp from it, she then let herself continue to be used as he thrust into her, seeking his pleasure, his movements triggering more waves of her own. He did not take long at all in diving off that most wonderful abyss.

            “Christopher… that was so very naughty of you!” She said as she arranged his hair, which she had disheveled amidst her pleasure.

            “You excite me as if I were a senseless boy again, my dearest, sweetest temptation.” He planted a kiss on her bosom, then on her lips.

            “I bit you,” she rubbed his neck where it was slightly red, glad his collar and cravat could cover it, but worried she had been too bold.

            “I enjoyed it,” he smiled.

            “What if someone had walked in?”

            “The door was safely locked.”

            “I believe the fact that it is locked is very telling in itself.”

            Christopher just shrugged as he smiled. “I believe it is safe to unlock it now?” He asked, checking if she wished to play further.

            She playfully slapped his arm as she giggled. “It is.” She rose to unlock it, giving him time to button up his fall front and adjust his collar.

            With the door unlocked but still closed, she came back to peck his lips. And as if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

            She gasped and looked at him, startled, cheeks so very pink. He chuckled and called out “come in” as she stood beside him and desperately flattened out the skirts on her dress, which were already very much in place.

            The door opened slowly, and Eve made herself seen.

            “Mrs. Brandon,” she said, and Marianne was flushing furiously red still. “Mrs. Ferrars awaits you in the drawing room. She wished to know if you should like to take her exercises with her. Riding, that is.”

            “Oh! Yes. Yes. I shall be with her presently. Thank you, Eve.”

            Eve curtsied and left, closing the door behind her. Marianne looked to her husband and he smiled.

            “Go on, angel. I shall continue the boring task of doing finances without the pleasure of your lovely presence.”

            “But… I still wish to learn more.”

            “Then I shall teach you at another time,” he smiled. “Go ride with your sister.”

            She kissed his lips briefly.

            “I love you, my Marianne.”

            “And I you, my sweet Chris,” she smiled. She then ran to the door.

            “You may leave it open,” he called to her with a sly smile, and she giggled as she did.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one. It was supposed to be part of the next, in truth, but then it would be soooo long. So I cut it. Also, you guys are once again catching up to me. I need my muses to aid me!! But I still have another 4 or 5 chapters already written. Hopefully more will come in the time it takes for me to post them, so I won't leave you hanging.  
> Next one will be longer, I promise.
> 
> Thanks to all who leave kudos and comments.

            Marianne Brandon sat happily in the library of her home, sewing. She found that was one of her favorite rooms of the house, as she had many memories of being courted by her husband there, and even proposed to right behind the sofa on which she currently sat. It also had the best light, better than the parlor, which was more customarily used for the activities she was now engaged in.

            She sewed buttons on her husband’s waistcoats and coats. He had acquired new ones, of more varied colors than his usual black or brown, particularly waistcoats, as coats could only be elegantly worn in darker shades. It was a testament to how well, happy and young he felt with her. Livelier. And it showed on his choice of clothing.

            Marianne contemplated how happy she was herself as she delicately stitched the golden buttons on his clothes. Her life could not be better. It was so much better than she had ever imagined. Christopher was so sweet, tender, attentive… and so completely devoted to her. She loved him with every fiber of her body.

            He was out, seeing villagers and resolving disputes. He had put it off after the wedding for as long as he could, devoting however much time he could to being with his wife. But after almost a fortnight, he could not postpone any longer. And so his routine returned to what it once was. With the lovely exception that now he would not take joy in being out of the house and away from his loneliness, seeking any and all excuses he could find to stall and not go back to hid empty, cold house. No. It was now a home, warm and comfortable, and he had the most beautiful being in creation waiting for him, to welcome him with warm embraces and soft kisses. He would rush back, and always be there earlier than before, to the staff’s initial surprise.

            Whenever he did go out, he would return always holding a bouquet to offer to his sweet Marianne. Most times, he would pick them from the hothouse, but there were a few times he had picked them from an obliging field, the few still left with the cooling weather and changing season. She loved them all the same, just because they were from him. She would place them in vases and spread them around the house, to lighten every room.

            Today was no different. Colonel Brandon picked lilies and roses from the hothouse, making a beautiful, full bouquet, and made his way into the house. He was warned by the maid that Mrs. Brandon could be found in the library, which he already expected.

            As the door was pushed open behind her, Marianne knew it was her husband. The lack of knock gave that away, of course, but she was also very familiar with his breathing, his smell, his presence. She just smiled, and remained seated as she was, a shoe off her foot and said foot tucked under her other leg, on the sofa.

            He made his way to her and as he stood over her, she looked up to him with a smile and happily accepted the kiss he bestowed on her lips. He was so handsome in his new waistcoat. This one, which she had sewn on the prior day, was still black, it was true, but there were elegant and sober thin patterns traced on it, in a golden color.

            Christopher admired her as he held the bouquet behind her back. His heart swelled with joy at how comfortably she sat, and how happy she seemed with her simple mundane chores. She was happy. He was succeeding in his life goal so far. He smiled.

            “What is it, Chris?” Marianne looked down at herself and realized how unladylike she looked. She immediately corrected herself, blushing.

            “No, no, sweetheart, please. I was just admiring how at home you feel, and it warmed my heart. Do not feel abashed on my account.” He found a spot on the sofa next to her he could occupy without deterring her work and kissed her cheek, tucking a curl of her golden hair behind her ear. His rush in comforting her made him reveal the bouquet unintentionally. It now sat on his lap as he caressed her cheek, running the back of his fingers down to her neck.

            “I do, feel at home,” she smiled.

            “I am so glad,” he whispered in her ear and kissed her cheek lightly again. “I want that more than anything, you to be comfortable and happy.”

            “I am,” she smiled, and tucked her foot under her leg again. That made him smile. “Are those for me?” She asked, looking at the flowers.

            “Absolutely. For whom would they be?” He picked them up to offer to her and she buried her nose in them while he still held them.

            “They are beautiful,” she replied with a smile, and leaned forward to sweetly press her lips against his. He was more forward and shortly deepened the kiss, to better quench the desire he had had all day.

            “If you would be so kind as to place them on the table for me.” She said, her hands still holding a needle and his new burgundy waistcoat. “I will see to it that they are placed at a proper location for me to admire.”

            “Certainly my love.” He stood and bowed, them made his way around to gently place them on the table behind them. But he saw there was a vase there that held no flowers, and took the liberty of giving them a home there.

            Marianne twisted her neck around to see what kept him, and smiled upon seeing the arrangement he had made. “Oh yes, that is perfect!”

            Colonel Brandon sat beside her once again, leaning back on the sofa and just admiring her. She looked up from her work to him, then immediately turned back to her sewing. “Chris, I still have quite a bit of work to do before we dine. You’ll be bored to death sitting there just watching me.”

            “I certainly will not. Admiring your perfection is my second favorite activity in life,” he smiled.

            Marianne blushed, he could see, even though she looked down at her work.

            “Second favorite? And may I ask what is your first?” She inquired timidly and innocently, trying to make some conversation as to not have his eyes on her in silence, which made her feel very self-conscious.

            “Caressing your trembling body into ecstasy,” he replied, his smile now more mischievous.

            She looked up at him in a quick movement, her complexion almost as burgundy as the waistcoat she held, eyes wide.

            “Christopher!” She berated him. He only chuckled as she looked to the door, half open, and whispered “someone might hear you!”

            “I cannot be punished for speaking the utmost truth, my sweet.”

            She just smiled timidly and shook her head lightly at his ways as she returned to her work.

            “Do you not have anything you wish to tell me?” He grinned. “Does my favorite activity please you? Or does my loving wife advise I find another and not waste my time with such things?”

            Marianne sniggered. This playful, unabashed side of her husband’s was a pleasant surprise she was only faced with after marriage. He was already very good humored in the weeks leading up to it, but never so bold and sharp tongued. It pleased her, and surprised her that he could be so composed, serious and sometimes even grave when in the presence of others, but that with her he was so tender and loving, always smiling and even naughty, as he was being now.

            “Anything I have to declare to you, kind sir, will be said later, in private, for the words I can muster right now are too tepid and void of meaning to properly convey how it is your activity makes me feel.”

            “Is that a promise, my eloquent Marianne?”

            “It is,” she smiled.

            “Then I shall be satisfied in practicing my second favorite activity for the time being,” he smiled.

She finished his burgundy waistcoat and was changing the thread on the needle to move on to another color when he spoke. “I was thinking perhaps we could go pay Eliza a visit when you finish your work. And invite her to dinner tomorrow.”

            “Certainly, yes! And I was thinking that perhaps we could set up a short visit for Margaret and Mama. I supposed Mrs. Jennings and Sir John will need to be invited as well. It would serve as a nice test for me, as mistress, for when we are to receive visitors that are not family, so I do not embarrass you in the presence of your acquaintances.” She smiled timidly. “Would you allow that?”

            “Marianne, my angel, first of all, there is absolutely no situation in which you could ever embarrass me. Second, you need not my permission to invite anyone to this house, certainly not your family, whom I adore as my own. Better than my own. It is your house. You need not my permission for anything. I am but your humble servant, Mrs. Brandon, put on this Earth to tend to any and all of your needs.” He still sat back, facing her, legs crossed as his arm stretched on the back of the sofa, and his fingers tenderly traced the hem of her dress on her shoulders.

            “How is it that you always have such sweet words for me?” She asked, flushing pink, her eyes shining with some tears that threatened to fall as she looked longingly into his eyes.

            “I only speak from the heart.” He reached for her hand and she gave it freely. He leaned forward to brush his lips on it.

            “I love you so very much, my sweet, sweet Christopher.”

            “I love you more, my Marianne.”

            She squeezed his hand before taking hers back to the work at hand. “Do you have suggestions as to when I can make the invitation?”

            “I must be away a week from tomorrow, for three or four days. Perhaps after that, so I can be here and aid you?”

            “You’ll be away?” She asked with surprise and sadness in her eyes, completely forgetting what they were talking of. It would be the first time they would be apart since their wedding. “Why?”

            He smiled softly, glad to know she had objections to being away from him. “I have business in Bath.”

            She pouted a bit, unwillingly, seeming discouraged.

            “I would love nothing more than to take you, Marianne, but there would be no time for me to accompany you anywhere. You would not see the town properly, even if you chose to explore it without me, for it is a very quick trip indeed.”

            “I will miss you all the same.”

            “My heart aches with the mere thought of leaving you.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a longer one, though a bit late.

            Colonel Brandon left on his trip as scheduled, and Marianne remained alone at Delaford for the first time. She invited Elinor and Edward for dinner on the first day, and Eliza on the second. But on the third night, she had dinner alone, for she had thought he perhaps would have been home already to accompany her. He, however, was not there by the time she climbed the stairs do retire.

            She missed his company, yes, the mere sound of his voice, his smile, the touch of his hand on hers. The sweet words he would say to her, and the conversations they would have. But her husband had also woken in her a desire for his body, and the pleasures of the flesh. And since their wedding night, he had fed such desires constantly, almost every night. Sometimes, they would be bold during the day, in the quiet corners of an empty room, sometimes interrupting either of their playing the pianoforte, or any business he had to tend to in his study, or her quiet needle work in the library or the upstairs parlor.

            She would be fearful of being caught, but also excited by the risk of it somehow, and so would give into him because her desire outweighed the fear. He would not even feel such fear, the only thing in his mind being the inebriating effect she had on him. Her beauty, and the fact he loved her more than life itself would certainly be enough to spark his desire. But that his touch caused her to quicken in pleasure, that she responded so well and unabashedly – mostly – in the heat of their moments of intimacy, unlike he had ever seen before, only caused his excitement to grow.

            He had been worried that a man such as himself would not be able to bring pleasure to such a young and vibrant woman. Never had any of his few affairs complained, but some of those were paid, so of course they could feign it, seeking only his coin. None of them, paid or not, did he truly love and wish to please and not just take his own release. So her love and passion and truthful acceptance of his caresses cause him to feel half his age, and act like it as well, being free and reckless as he never dared be before. And he was certain she truly loved and enjoyed him, for she had been so pure and innocent when they initiated their married life that he was sure she did not even know she could feign it all to get him away from her quickly. She did not even know there were such pleasures to be had. He was always quietly thankful that such things were not said to her in the preparatory talks her mother and sister must have had before their wedding.

           

            Marianne sat on the tub, after having accepted the maid’s help in disrobing – something she had not needed in all the nights she had spent with Christopher, for he performed such tasks gladly – and telling her that would be all for the evening. She wished to be alone, even though she would be washing her curls, a tricky feat.

            She sat in the tub, rubbing the cloth slowly on her body, thinking on how fortunate she was and how much she loved her husband. She regretted not having perceived his worth upon meeting him, for those could have been months more she would have spent with him, and she wished to be beside him every waking hour, until God saw it fit to take her from this Earth. She missed him so. Spending these days without him, without his touch, had been torturous now that she had learned how pleasurable, in every way, life as a couple could be. The fact they had joined their bodies almost every night, save for when she had her blood and some few times they favored simply resting in each other’s arms, exchanging tender caresses, only attested to that. Even on said nights, more often than not, said caresses would grow into something more. She quivered at the mere memory of his hands, even though the water was still warm. Maybe it was best to rise from the tub and get ready for bed.

            The fact he had not yet managed to return disappointed her deeply, she would not deny it. He had not guaranteed he would be back this day, it was true, yet she hoped for it. That he did not arrive only made it certain that he would on the morrow.

            So after brushing her damp hair and drying herself off, she saw it fit to try on a nightgown she had been given before the wedding. It was meant for enticing one’s husband, it seemed, as it was beautiful and nearly transparent, lace tightly hugging her breasts, muslin flowing down the rest of her body, all the way down to her feet. She had never worn it, though it was white and clearly meant for their wedding night. There had never been time for such planning, for their passion usually spoke louder. But she would wear it for him on the morrow, as she could not do it tonight.

            As she admired how beautiful the gown was on the looking glass at the corner of her dressing room, anticipation filled her as she imagined what he would think, how he would act. Her skin prickled at the thought of his touch, and another thought came to her. Perhaps if she mimicked how his hands slid up and down her body, she could quench her deep need for him, if only partially, and soften her missing of him.

            Her feet took her to the cream colored armchair that sat beside her armoire. She sat. No. She could not do such a thing. It would not be right. No. She should go to bed, sleep, wait for him on the morrow. But her hands took a will of their own, and traveled up her thighs from her knees, fingers lightly marking their trail as they pulled up her gown. Soon, they touched skin, and her fingers gently slid up her inner thighs, that pull in her belly that her husband usually caused growing as she imagined his hand instead of hers, his soft whisper in her ear. Anticipation seemed to explode in her until her fingers finally met the apex of her sex, and sunk inside her small valley to find that little knot her husband had made her so aware of. She leaned back into the chair, becoming more comfortable, as she tentatively explored herself, trying to find the pressure and rhythm Christopher applied so well. She finally found something akin to it, though not nearly as good, and her eyes fluttered shut as she imagined him before her, smiling and kissing her lips as his hand gently teased her. She felt the need to pull one foot up to step on the chair, making more room for her to explore. She let out soft moans she tried to control, to no avail. And when her eyes fluttered open for a second, she saw Christopher standing at the door to her dressing room, watching her, a slightly astonished look on his face.

            Shock of having been discovered and fear of being seen as improper and unladylike, perhaps even appalling by him, made her pull her hand away and sit up immediately. She had been lucky enough to have a husband who cared for her and concerned himself with her pleasure, which by every indication was not something that happened commonly. But this might be too much. It might even displease him somehow. It might even insult him. She should not have done it.

            Her cheeks burning red and her heart pounding in fear, for she knew not what he thought, his expression being indecipherable, she spoke.  “Chris! You are home!” she tried, all the small ounces of pleasure she had gotten completely gone from her body.

            He just stood before her in his handsome dark-green waistcoat, which made his eyes more green than hazel, and black trousers and cravat, holding a bouquet of roses at his side. She could cry at his silence.

            “They are lovely,” she tried again, referring to the roses. He placed them on the dressing table and made his way to the door that led from the dressing room to the corridor, locking it. All the while, he did not speak. Something danced in his eyes though, and she did not quite know what it was.

            “Chris, forgive me, I…” She started to say, abandoning the tactics of pretending nothing had happened, for the sake of her embarrassment.

            But in a moment he was kneeling before her, taking her lips down to his, not allowing her to finish the sentence.

 

            He had ridden hard and fast to be with her as soon as possible. He would not make it to supper, he knew, but at least he would be able to sleep with her warmth beside him.

            As he arrived in their bedchamber, hoping to surprise her, he heard whimpers coming from her dressing room. His first reaction was to assume she had fallen and hurt herself, or was in some kind of distress, so he rushed in to aid her. What he saw was much different than that. It fascinated him. Aroused him.

            He had, of course, during those many lonely years, allowed himself pleasure. Such discoveries were made when he was young. But never had he seen a lady do such a thing. He very much doubted most would even explore themselves as such. Perhaps after marriage, after being widowed, but even then… he thought they would be bashful of it in most cases. How Marianne reacted to the pleasure he had given her on their wedding night only confirmed to him how men were much more curious and explorative than women. Hence the sight astonishing him.

            It also astonished him how beautiful and arousing it could be, his lovely wife finding her own pleasure, so shyly. Adding to that feeling was the happy thought of how much she had changed in that respect since their wedding night, and once again, that he could have caused such emotions to stir in her being.

            His strong hand gently pulled her by the neck down to him. She gave into his hungry kiss, her hand disheveling his hair as fear dissipated and arousal wished to invade her once more.

            “Forgive you for what?” He asked when their lips parted slightly. His nose gently rubbed on hers as his lips touched hers so lightly it tickled.

            “I feared you would disapprove, and…”

            “Did you think of me?” He could not help but ask as his hands gently made their way under her gown and up her thighs.

            “Yes!” She answered desperately, afraid he might think she did it because she desired… someone that not him.

            “Is that so?” He smiled, and she noticed then that nothing of the sort had passed through his mind. He just sought to hear her say naughty things that might arouse him. She was still a bit shy on that front, though he asked for it more constantly. She felt glad, that all the love she felt for him she was able to properly show, and that any past transgressions of hers did not weigh over their heads.

            His lips planted kisses up her now totally exposed thighs as his hands gripped her buttocks firmly, pulling her to the edge of her cream chair.

            “Chris…” she gasped.

            “Have you done so before?” He asked, then grazed his teeth on her thighs with a mischievous look in his eyes.

            “No… I… I only did it because I missed you so,” she said breathlessly as his lips gave her other thigh attention. “I wondered if I could perhaps replicate what you cause in me, love. I never even knew such pleasures existed before you showed them to me.”

            The tip of his tongue traced lazy circles on her sensitive skin, so close yet so far from her sex.

            “I am only sorry I interrupted your discovery of yourself, then. But I too missed you so…”

            “Don’t be sorry,” she whimpered. “I much rather have your touch on me, sweet Chris.”

            “Is that so?” His fingers grazed her privates, making Marianne quicken.

            “Yes,” she let out in a hushed, pleading tone.

            His fingers toyed with her as she had tried to do, but it felt infinitely better. She arched her back and moaned softly. It only lasted briefly, though, for his lips and tongue took over, making her pleasure grow and, therefore, her appreciation grow louder. He brought her such sweet and intense pleasure, she could feel moisture escaping her.

            He pulled her down to the floor, to his lap, while her body was still limp, and claimed her lips.

            Mounted on his legs, tasting his lips and her essence upon them, she felt his arousal, imprisoned. Her hand instinctively began to fumble on the buttons of his waistcoat as his kisses and his growing arousal awakened her own again.

            “Marianne,” he breathed against her cheek as he kissed it, making his way down to her neck. “I must say…” he looked down at her body and his hand slid to her side, coming to rest on and caress the side of her breast as his thumb played over thin lace, causing her to whimper and quiver as she still unbuttoned his waistcoat. “This outfit is very befitting of your beauty. You look stunning.”

            She smiled, now pulling to undo the knot of his cravat. He loved it when she took initiative like this, so he claimed her lips again.

            “Good,” said Marianne, now unbuttoning his shirt. “I wore it in the hopes you would enjoy it, love.”

            His lips were busy with her neck and collarbone as she whispered this next to his ear. Yet, his hands pulled up the nightgown he had referred to, sliding under it to caress her soft, warm skin directly, teasing her nipple, making it stiffen at his touch. She whimpered as she tried to push his waistcoat off his shoulders, unable to for he busied himself with teasing her.

            “I very much appreciate such an effort.” He brushed his lips against hers. “But I prefer to gaze at your nude form, my love,” he whispered in her ear as he pushed the gown up, and only pulled away from the heat of her body to unburden her completely of the garment. He smiled lovingly as he admired her nudity, and even with a month of being wed and being joined to him, flesh and soul, she blushed under his gaze. That only made his smile wide as his heart overflowed with love.

            “You…look very handsome yourself,” she declared. “The color of your waistcoat brings about the green in your tender eyes.”

            “Does it now?” He smiled as he laid her on the furry carpet of her dressing room floor.

            “Yes.” She pulled his lips to hers as she gently cupped his cheeks.

            “Do you wish me to keep it on, then?” he asked when they parted, his hand grazing her body slowly, over her stomach and side, down to her thighs.

            “Oh no, no.” She pulled his untied cravat off his neck. “For I too enjoy the sight of your bare body.” She said with a very timid smile, almost covering her breasts with the piece of cloth she held due to his stare.

            “Do you say that truthfully, my Marianne?”

            “Completely.”

            He pulled off his waistcoat and then his light fingers traced random patterns on her skin, down her cleavage, to her stomach, up around a breast, and over to the other. She quickened against his soft hand and the soft carpet.

            “Did you think of my nudity as you explored yourself earlier?” A sweet sort of malice danced in his eyes.

            She nodded as she rejoiced in his tender caress. Then, a hushed “yes” come forth from her throat.

            He leaned down to her ear and whispered “Does the thought of my nudity make your core pulsate in anticipation?” All the while, his hand played on her skin, now going down to her lower belly, dangerously close to her mound. But just his voice would be enough to make her tremble, let alone saying such words.

            “Yes,” she breathed in a whimper, blushing so very pink in bashfulness and excitement.

            “Then continue what I interrupted, love,” he said as he pulled his hand away from her. He wished to embolden her. He wished to watch such a lovely scene as the one he had briefly witnessed as he arrived.

            “No!” She held his large hand to her stomach with both of hers. “Please, Chris… I crave your touch.”

            He smiled, love pouring out of his eyes along with the desire he felt.

            “Then guide me, love. Show me what it is you wish for.”

            She bit her lower lip coyly, and tentatively began to guide his hand down her stomach. His fingers lightly moved over her skin, increasing her experience. Finally, his hand reached her sex, as she intended. He still looked at her lovingly and encouragingly, she saw, and so she found it in her to guide his fingers to spread her, to that bud of nerves she had been exploring on her own. She moved them as she pleased, his fingers, and quickly found the right direction, needing only recall what he had always done.

            “Oh yes,” she moaned as she closed her eyes. “Just so.” She bit her lower lip in desire and dared open her eyes to look into his. She found much desire there. She let go of his hand and fingers, and he continued the movements on his own. She could not help but quiver and arch her back.

            “Chris… Chris…” She let out in a hushed voice. “Kiss me. Please.”

            He leaned to her lips as his hand continued its work, granting her wish. As he lost himself in the sweetness of her lips, he felt her hands reach for his trousers. She tenderly, shyly, caressed his imprisoned manhood, then quickly unbuttoned the fall front, releasing him. Her eager fingers loosened the strings of his trousers as she once again bit her lips in shyness and desire, since their lips had parted. His fingers still worked avidly, and her hips began to move to meet his hand, eagerly.

            Marianne caressed his manhood as well, but her need grew unbearably, so she stopped. She pulled on his shirt. “Take this off,” she ordered wantonly, and he pulled his hand away from her to tend to her wish. He also pushed down his trousers, making himself completely bare. His boots he had already taken off upon arrival, as to not dirty her cream-colored carpet.

            “I need you, Chris,” she pleaded as he lay beside her and sunk his hand into her still damp curls to hungrily take over her lips.

            She held his waist and pulled her body closer to his, wishing that his manhood would invade her as his tongue did her mouth. His hand glided down her shoulders and sides, to pull on her buttocks, rolling them so she could lay atop him.

            “Chris,” she whined, pleading.

            “Use me, love,” he smiled. “Explore yourself.”

            She sat up, still shy about this, having been caught and being so forward about it. But her strong desire outweighed it all, and so she began to slowly roll her hips, trying to find some rhythm as her sex slid along his length, moistening him with her essence. She had in fact never been in such a position before, only coming close when they had been intimate in his study, as he sat on his chair. Yet, this was somehow a bit more difficult, as she now had complete control.

            She steadied herself with hands flat on his chest, and his hands slid up and down her thighs, his eyes burning through her with desire as he gazed her up and down, focusing especially on how her breasts sensually bounced in front of him. Some small pleasure constantly rippled through her body, causing her to sink her fingers in his flesh momentarily. But it was not enough.

            She took his manhood into her hand, gently, and managed to lead him into her, lowering herself on him as she bit her lip, her face contorting with lust and pleasure. That image, her initiative, her warmth around him, it all caused him to become highly aroused, gripping her hip and grunting as he felt himself plunge into her completely.

            Once again she moved, gingerly finding a pace, her hands on his chest. The feeling was stronger now, better, as more points that caused her pleasure were stimulated. So she could not help but moan in rhythm with her hip’s movement. Her pace increased, as did her moaning, and both their arousals. He held her waist, then her hips, encouraging her movements and grunting as his pleasure built. She was also on the edge, and professed her love as she looked down to him, before being pushed to dive in that incredible abys of bliss. He quickly followed, and as her limp body collapsed on his, he held her close and tight, making her feel so comfortable and safe and yet free to truly speak her mind.

            She lay with her cheek to his chest, still recomposing, as he caressed her hair. 

            “How was your trip, love? Was business fruitful?”

            “You know… I cannot even recall,” he chuckled. “I see _you_ had much fun in my absence,” he jested.

            She snickered lightly and caressed his arm. “I was fearful you were cross when I saw you standing there,” she said.

            “Why is that?”

            “Because I was… indulging in such activities.”

            “As you could very well feel, other emotions were roused in my being.” He again chuckled. “Though I hope you do not find that you prefer to be alone and that I no longer have use.”

            “Christopher! For shame! Nothing can compare to these hands,” she took the hand that rested on her waist to her mouth and kissed his palm. Then, she felt at liberty to suck on one of his fingers, for whatever reason she could not explain. He grunted, showing his enjoyment. “Nor to your body against mine… your lips on me…” She kissed his chest, then rose her countenance to his to suck on his lips. “And it shall be so for always, my darling.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh... if only there were love like this in real life.

            Marianne Brandon wrote a letter to her mother, issuing the invitation to stay at Delaford for a few days. She was to extend the invite to Sir John and Mrs. Jennings of course. After an animated exchange of letters, a date was settled upon. And so Marianne began to worry of her first visitors and of being a proper mistress to Delaford. Christopher of course showed her love and support and encouragement, but it did not prevent anxiety from assaulting her. So much so that the visit was still a week away and she already went over what was to be served on each day of the visit with the kitchen staff, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. MacCarthy. She also tried to think of and plan activities for all, but seemed to fall short on those. She had also seen to it that the bedrooms – on the opposite wing to that in which the masters’ bedchamber was located of course – were cleared and prepared with much anticipation.

            “Marianne,” her sweet husband called one night as they sat in bed. She was supposed to be reading, but her book lay on her lap as she stared into the distance.

            “Huh?” She turned to him.

            “Stop worrying, love.” He took her hand and brushed his lips against it.

            Marianne smiled. “I just wish to be a proper mistress to this estate, so that when one of your acquaintances or family visit, I do not embarrass you.”

            “You could never embarrass me,” he uttered in a low tone as he leaned in to kiss her neck.

            “What do you believe is missing? What have I not thought of?” She asked absently as he planted kisses on her neck and shoulders. His teeth came to nip her earlobe and then he sucked on it, to soften the sting. His tongue traveled up the shell of her ear.

            “Chris…” she sang, finally attuned to what he was doing. “I want to know your thoughts.”

            “I think…” he switched to her other ear to nip it as well, as he took the book from her lap and placed it on the nightstand behind her, “you have planned it all to perfection.” He sucked on her lobe. “You now need to relax…” He grazed is teeth on her shoulder, making her quiver. “A distraction, perhaps, is in order.”

            She smiled and softly touched her lips to his, sinking her hand into his hair. “And will my darling husband provide me with such distractions?” She felt very free to speak her mind now, especially in such matters, especially since he came home from his trip and found her exploring herself and was aroused by it.

            “Gladly,” he replied, his hand already finding its way under her shift to caress her thighs. “Tell me what it is you need,” he rumbled.

            She blushed instantly. She did not feel as free as she should, it seemed. He enjoyed hearing her say intimate, naughty things and that was something she was still getting used to. She never knew quite what to say and was afraid she might say something that would ruin the moment. The fear of being too forward, of crossing some line she knew not where it lay, still remained. It had been her loose lips and eagerness that had gotten her into trouble before in life after all. But he liked it, to hear intimacy. So she tried. And her constant success seemed to make her slowly more confident.

            “You,” Marianne breathed. “I need you, Chris, my love. You, invading my being with all your might, taking my body as your property. Doing whatever you please to me, knowing full well I will thoroughly enjoy it.”

            A grunt caught in his throat as she finished expressing such words, and he caught her lips in his, hungrily, sinking her down into the bed to do exactly as she had asked of him.

 

            The Barton Party came and Marianne was nervous as could be, even though half of the party was comprised of her own family, with whom she had lived with for all her life. But never was she in charge, and never was she so aware that she could shame those she loved so much.

            Colonel Brandon could sense her nerves and wished to take the lead, as it came so naturally to him, having done it alone many times. He wished to unburden her. Alleviate the pressure and anxiety she felt. But that would also take away her authority as mistress of the estate, imposing himself as master over her. And he had meant it when he laid it all, all he had and all he was, at her feet. He wanted her to feel confident to do as she pleased and saw fit, and wanted her to feel like this was her house completely, her home, to tear apart and rebuilt if she wished it, to turn inside out. He did not wish for her to perceive it as his alone, in which he just very graciously allowed her to live due to their bonds of matrimony. He felt that was the case many times still, by her demeanor. She was not used to not being submitted to someone else’s wishes.

            So he just stood behind her to show support, and caressed her shoulders and back, and held her hand whenever needed. To soothe her. Meanwhile, she welcomed all and ordered they be shown to their rooms and their trunks to be taken to them, with much grace and elegance, showing she was indeed more at ease than she let on. But little did he know that she would have never done it without his support and encouragement.

            They had luncheon and after some conversation, the visitors all wished for some rest, for the journey was not so short and their bodies were not so young. So of course they were excused as they retired to their rooms for a while. All except for Margaret. She was not one to tire so easily, and so Marianne was happy to take her riding. Perhaps they could even see Elinor before dinner, which she had promised to attend along with Edward.

            Colonel Brandon was happy to allow the sisters a bit of alone time and find something to busy himself with, but both ladies were adamant he accompany them. Marianne was of course always eager to be with her beloved husband, and Margaret had very much grown accustomed to his company and stories as he sat with her at Barton Park, when Marianne had only eyes for Willoughby and most of the others would ignore children.

            So they rode, showing an eager Margaret all she had not yet seen of the estate. Colonel Brandon also took the opportunity to better her riding skills, teaching her a few new techniques. They rode down to the Parsonage as well, but the Ferrars could not yet be found, having gone out to visit an ill parishioner and bring him some bread. Marianne had of course also sent cake and fruit from the manor.

            Come dinner time, Christopher and Marianne were exiting their respective dressing rooms, after having bathed together, as it had become a habit of theirs on most nights since that of their wedding. As they set eyes on one another, they both smiled.

            “Don’t we make quite the handsome match?” Marianne asked. She had chosen a yellow dress for the evening, and it was completely by chance that he donned his waistcoat with thin black and mustard colored stripes, making them match.

            “We do. And not just in clothing,” he smiled, coming to her and taking her lips with his, softly. “I hope you do agree.”

            “You are half of me, Chris. You complete me in every way, my heart, my soul.” She took his hand to her lips and kissed it, first the back, then his palm.

            He smiled widely as his heart filled with joy. “Shall we?” He then asked, offering his arm to escort her downstairs. She took it gladly, donning a smile.

 

            “Oh, look at the merry couple, matching outfits!” Mrs. Jennings commented as they descended the stairs, arm in arm. “So handsome. I knew they would be perfect for each other from the moment I laid eyes on Miss Marianne,” she chuckled as she would. “Oooh pardon, Mrs. Brandon.”

            Marianne blushed very red and smiled shyly as all eyes were on her and her husband, including Elinor’s and Edward’s, who had arrived. It was a good thing they all smiled. They must share Mrs. Jennings good opinion.

            Colonel Brandon’s heart could barely fit in his chest. He felt proud. So very proud that he could escort such a stunning woman, and call her his, and have her call him her own. He was happy is what he was. Happier than he had ever thought possible.

            Everything transpired rather nicely during their meal. The only thing that could maybe have been noticed was the Ferrars’ quietness. They mostly exchanged looks with one another, and spoke when spoken to. They did not seem upset, nor were their exchanged looks worrisome, only tender and loving. But something felt strange to Marianne nonetheless.

 

            “… it is a shame Eliza did not come,” her husband was saying as they got ready for bed.

            “Do not worry yourself, my love. She is just shy, and did not wish to intrude on the first dinner, she said. She assured me she would come tomorrow. Although I am afraid we might need to go fetch her to ensure she does,” Marianne smiled.

            “You do not mind if she does?”

            “Of course not, Chris. She is your family; therefore, she is my family. And I do adore her. So sweet, and kind.” Marianne was pulling on her negligée, for she now took to wearing them more often. Although it mattered not, for her husband would desire and disrobe her even if she were in rags. She made her way to the bed as he came out from his dressing room.

            “Do you feel there was something odd about Elinor and Edward tonight?” Marianne asked her husband. “They were rather quiet.”

            “No, I did not notice.” Christopher was getting into bed with her.

            “Could they be… upset that Mama and Margaret are staying here, you think?” Worry flashed in Marianne’s eyes.

            “No. It was your invitation, my sweet, they would expect nothing less. When they issue the invitation, they will have them at the parsonage.”

            “Hmm.” Was all she said. Still she went to sleep in a thoughtful state, being soothed only by her husband’s strong arms pulling her to him, to rest her back against his chest.

 

            The following day was a full one. All the Delaford guests were rested and prepared to fill their time with activities. Elinor was constantly there to aid Marianne in escorting Mrs. Jennings and their mother, as well as Margaret in a long walk and many other activities, but never did they have a moment alone together so Marianne could inquire of what had happened, of what burdened her heart. Elinor did seem in good spirits though.

            As the women went their way, Colonel Brandon escorted the men another. The weather was still not so disagreeable that they could not have a hunt. So that they did.

            While Marianne accompanied the ladies on a long walk, her mind drifted away as the others chatted, into what Christopher might be doing and if he thought of her. She had not had a moment with him since they had risen that morning, and going on that walk with the ladies only made her appreciate her walks alone with her husband more. How lovely and lively they were. How he took her arm – and when they passed more quiet areas, her hand – and how he would serenate her with sweet words or poems. How proud she felt when a villager greeted him with respect, and he with much kindness in turn. How they would sometimes find hidden groves and, amongst the trees, indulge in ardent kisses and fervent caresses, and sometimes even more. She loved her husband, and though she did also love her family, she found it now a lot harder to go a day without laying eyes on him than without having contact with her family.

            After the walk, Elinor took Marianne’s guests off her hands for a while, inviting them to the Parsonage for tea. Marianne decided not to go. If it was how she thought it was and Elinor was upset of not having Mama stay at her house, she should let Elinor have her moment with them alone. They would all be at the manor for dinner anyway.

            She returned home to find Christopher in the solarium, having tea by himself and reading the papers he did not have a chance to earlier.

            “Hello, my darling,” she bid, and he lowered the paper to gaze upon her face and smile. “Where are your hunting companions?”

            “Off to the Parsonage for tea.”

            Upon confirmation they were alone in the house, Marianne made her way to him, taking a seat on his lap as she wrapped an arm around his neck and held his cheek with her other hand to taste his lips. “Why did you not accompany them?”

            “I needed some rest. Hunting does not come so easily to me anymore, it seems. I must be too old for it.”

            “You are no such thing.”

            Colonel Brandon chuckled. “Oh but I am. I do not have the energy I once did.”

            “Perhaps it is I who drain your energy,” she whispered in his ear in a seductive way.

            “Perhaps it is,” he rumbled in response, and all the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, “but I cannot imagine a better way to be spent.”

            She smiled and kissed him again.

            “And the ladies?”

            “Tea at the Parsonage. I decided to let Elinor have her moment alone with them, should that be what was bothering her yesterday.”

            “I still do not think she was bothered. Edward seemed perfectly happy today.”

            “Well… I sensed something. I will speak to her after dinner.”

            The Brandons had tea and retired to get dressed for supper while there was still time for them to bathe together.

           

            It was in the middle of supper, as everyone chatted merrily, Eliza as well, though still rather shyly and only speaking when spoken to, that Edward requested everyone’s attention. He shyly announced, as Elinor smiled beside him, that they were to be parents soon. There was a burst of joy and congratulations all around, and nothing else could be talked of until the time everyone retired.

 

            “I knew something had happened,” Marianne said to her husband from inside her dressing room, slipping into her negligée.

            “That was very perceptive of you, my love. Such joyous news!” Christopher’s voice came from somewhere in the room.

            “Indeed!”

            “I cannot wait until it is you with child.”

            “I for one hope it does not happen too soon,” she said freely, without much thought.

            There was silence from Christopher’s side and she exited her dressing room, still not realizing how that might have sounded. She saw him sat on the edge of the bed, facing her, a saddened, worried look upon his countenance.

            “Do you not wish to bear my child?” he asked, sorrow evident in his voice and on his features.

            “Oh, Chris, no! That is not what I meant!” Marianne replied hurriedly and desperately, her feet carrying her to him in quick, urgent strides.

            “Do you believe I am unfit to be a father?”

            “No, my love, that is not it at all!” She straddled his lap and held his cheeks in between her hands, fixing his gaze on hers. “You will be such a wonderful father, sweet Chris! I see you with little Philip and my heart just swells with love for you. You are kind, and sweet, and have such a way with him. That child loves you. And even Margaret, you have always been kind and attentive to, paying her mind while most, myself included, I am ashamed to say, do not give children her age much attention or heed what they have to say. Nor do they see them as fit company for conversation, or to share stories with….” Marianne caressed her husband’s cheeks, pushing back a lock of hair from his sad eyes. Now less sad with her words. “… and you did all that as recently as yesterday. I long to see you with children of our own, I have since the day I first saw you with Philip. And while kind and sweet, I am sure you will be quite the disciplinarian, as well. At least with the boys. The girls you will for sure spoil rotten,” she smiled, and he chuckled. “ They will grow to be very fine young ladies and gentlemen. And there will be no greater joy on this earth than to bare children with your handsome features. Your soft hair and tender hazel eyes… your beautiful smile, which lights up my whole life… can you imagine seeing it multiplied? I shall be happy at every waking moment.”

            Her comment managed to rip a small smile from his much less sorrowful face.

            “And your elegant nose, they shall all have it.”

            “Surely not my nose,” he replied, holding her closer to him.

            “Yes, your nose,” she kissed it, then rubbed hers on it. “What I meant, love of my life,” she continued, “is that I wish to have more time alone with you, just you, before time needs to be shared. I enjoy spending time with you, much more than you can even know. I refrain from going into your study many times a day, to not disturb you, but the truth of the matter is, I long to have you by my side in every waking hour, be it when I sew, when I practice the pianoforte, when I read, when I go on walks. I want you there, always. I wish to sew seated at the sofa in your study, just to be in your silent, companionable presence. And so I would just like to enjoy that some more, you and I, just us.” She pecked his lips. They were smiling now, as did his eyes.

            “I love you, my Marianne.”

            “I love you too.”

            He took her hand to his chest and she could feel it thudding. “My heart is overwhelmed of hearing such sweet words, although I disagree our children should look like me when they will have an angel for a mother…”

            Marianne blushed and smiled timidly at his words. “You are the most beautiful, handsome man I have ever laid eyes on, in every aspect.”

            “You are the most beautiful creature on this Earth, and in the heavens combined.” He took her lips, tenderly yet fervently, and they lingered in the kiss.

            “I do hope…” he said when they finally parted, “that all this does not mean we cannot practice making such children.” He smiled devilishly.

            “Oh Chris, for shame!” She laughed. “Of course not. I very much enjoy the practice. We practice wonderfully together.”

            “We absolutely do.”

            “And practice does make perfection come about.”

            He nodded. “Mhhmm. We should practice right now,” he rumbled, and swiftly turned her over to lie on her back beneath him. She yelped then laughed, and pulled his lips down to hers.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but sweet.

            The rest of the visit ran smoothly. The days that followed brought more peace and security to Marianne, also because Elinor’s announcement took the focus off of her, even if that had not been Elinor’s intention. Marianne did not mind in the slightest, and was truly happy for her sister. And after almost a fortnight, the visiting party returned to Barton, with a promise of coming back soon on Mrs. Dashwood’s side, to stay this time at the Parsonage and help her eldest daughter.

            The following fortnight had Colonel Brandon away on trips almost every day, for all the business he had postponed to be with Marianne and her family had now to be dealt with. Marianne filled her days with chores, riding, practicing the pianoforte and reading, as well as having tea and distributing cakes and bread to those who needed most alongside Elinor, visiting the sickly and lonely. She also visited Eliza and Philip, of course, and saw to it that they had all they needed, as Christopher would want to do were he present.

            But none of that took her heart and mind off of missing her husband, and the few nights he was at home during that fortnight, he could hardly be seen out of their bedchamber by a soul, staff or villager, family or acquaintance. All his spare time was spent in his loving wife’s arms.

            However, it was not enough. Christopher missed her dearly, even more than she missed him. And when he arrived at Delaford manor after the last of his long string of trips, it was still midafternoon, much earlier than he had expected to be back. He stepped inside and the maid took his coat and the footman took his trunk up to his bedchamber. He could hear the sweet sounds of the pianoforte and his wife’s voice coming from the music room. So once he thanked the maid and footman and assured the former that he needed nothing else at the moment, his feet hurriedly carried him to that room.

            He stepped inside unnoticed by the beautiful blonde creature who played the instrument and sang heavenly, her attentions on the sheet, sun dimly shining in behind her, casting the aura of an angel he always knew she had, for she was his angel, it was true. He locked the door behind him, and quietly admired her, daring to come hither slowly, only one step at a time, as to not disturb her. His need to see her, hear her, smell her, taste her, and hold her was so deep, he had forgotten to stop by the hothouse and make her a bouquet as he always did. As she finished the song she played, she caught sight of him, pleasant surprise filling her eyes as she smiled to him.

            “Chris!! You are home!” She said happily, abandoning the song unfinished as she stood and rushed to clash against his ample chest, wrapping her arms around him as he too embraced her. She took in the smell of his skin and cologne, which clung to his waistcoat, as he did the same to her hair. He then pulled away, only to lower his lips to hers, hungry as his.

            The kiss deepened, her hands sinking in to his hair, his, lowering to her waist, almost pulling her up to wrap her legs around him.

            “Shall we go upstairs?” She offered once they parted, smiling shyly and blushing, a bit out of breath from the kiss.

            “I do not think I can wait that long, my Marianne,” he whispered.

            “Chris…” he said warningly, but he ignored her tone, smiling mischievously, pressing her back to the rim of the pianoforte, his hand softly traveling up her thigh, over her skirts, as his lips once again closed in on hers.

            “Chris,” she said again once they parted, less warning in her tone, more breathlessness. “Someone might walk in.”

            “Then it is best if we are quick,” he smiled mischievously.

            “It won’t be as fun as if we took our time, in out bedchamber,” she tried to convince him half-heartedly, the presumed danger of being caught already burning a hole through her belly.

            “Yes it will,” he rumbled in her ear, and turned her to face the instrument, support herself on it, as he pressed his chest to her back and planted soft, tender kisses on her neck from behind.

            She leaned on the instrument, rubbing her behind on his very noticeable arousal, teasing him, pleading silently for him. He answered such a plea by pulling her skirts up with hunger as his teeth grazed her neck, and sliding his hand underneath to find her mound, already hot in desire for him. He caressed her, teased her as she gripped the instrument, and his other hand undid his fall front hurriedly.

            He guided himself under her skirts and into her center, groaning in relief as he found her. Her moan became a hum as she bit her lip, trying to be silent. He moved inside her as his hand continued its task under the front of her skirt, caressing her swollen bud of nerves. She breathed heavily already, bucking back to meet his movements, panting his name at times.

            Their movements became hurried rather quickly, but never less pleasurable for it. He drove her to ecstasy, quickly following her as he held her hips tight, close to him, with one hand, the other incessantly caressing her and prolonging her pleasure. She rested her cheek on the closed lid of the instrument, her ragged breaths fogging the shiny wood, a smile on her lips.

            He pulled away from her and let her skirts fall over her modesty again, and hurried to cover himself up.

            “Any faults or lack of attention, I shall profusely make up for once we have retired, my sweet,” he smiled as she turned to him and he leaned down to peck her lips.

            “There were no faults, I can assure you. I still will not deny anything you wish to offer later,” she smiled mischievously.

 

            Now that his long string of business was over, Marianne was nothing short of relieved. He had time to once again go on their walks, play her a song and read to her. But as they sat in their library one fine afternoon, putting together a puzzle – the one of the chateau de Versailles now – Marianne could not help but feel a bit sorrowful. He, being attuned to her needs as he was, as he strived to be, of course noticed.

            “What bothers you, my Marianne?”

            “Huh?” She said absently. He just looked at her meaningfully, as if stressing his point and raised his brow, waiting for a response. He was holding a puzzle piece and put it down to take both her hands in his. He looked her in the eyes and waited. She sighed and shyly averted her eyes for a moment.

            “I… I just sometimes fear you might… grow tired of me.” She said in a small voice.

            “That is completely impossible, my love. What makes you think of such things? Have I not been attentive enough of you?” He was truly worried he might somehow have been amiss.

            “No! No… you are truly a wonderful man. But I… don’t have much to offer. You know the world, you travel at all times for business and meet new and interesting people… and I am just the same old Marianne who has nothing new to share with you. Putting together this puzzle only reminded me of it.”

            He took her hands to his lips, one after the other, then took her cheeks in between his hands and kissed her lips fervently.

            “You are more interesting to me than any creature, no matter how far they have gone in this Earth. I would much rather hear about your day, even if you did nothing but sit and look out onto our garden. As long as you did it with joy, and it pleased you… I love how you smile as you share with me about tea with Elinor, or knitting our new nephew or niece a pair of socks…” he brushed his finger on her cheeks as she blushed and smiled shyly. “Or how excited you become about finding a new interesting book to read, or when you enjoy a new piece of music I acquire… And you are wildly intelligent. Discussing anything you read with you is so stimulating. You truly make me see things… _life_ , in a different way. You help me improve my skills on the pianoforte, for no one is more talented than you. You have solutions to villagers’ grievances I share with you that I would personally never think of. You have so much to offer, my darling. And it all fills my heart with warmth and joy. That is what you have to offer to me, Marianne. You are simply all that I am. I can never tire of you.” He paused, and she shifted to sit on his lap, smiling.

            “But I _have_ been amiss, and failed partially as a husband, at least.”

            “You have not,” she said tenderly. “I love you completely and you provide me with more than enough for me to be happy and fulfilled for ten lifetimes.”

            “No. I promised to show you the world, take you wherever your heart desired. And I have been off to many towns and haven’t taken you to even one different place than here.”

            She caressed his hair. “They were short trips. I understand. It would not be practical to take me.”

            “I cannot take you to France, unfortunately, as there is impending war.” He looked down to the puzzle they assembled.

            Marianne nodded. She knew he worried for his sister, whose husband stubbornly insisted on staying there.

            “And I had wanted it to be a surprise, but… I have already planned a trip to the lakes next summer.” Marianne gasped excitedly. He continued. “I wish it could be sooner, but the weather really does not allow it. Consider it a belated wedding trip.”

            “Oh Chris!! How wonderful!” She kissed his lips. “Thank you.”

            “There is a trip we can make sooner still…”

            “Oh?” She asked excitedly.

            “I got word this morning that I will need to leave for London on business in a few weeks. I was frightful I might not make it back before the frost to be with you… so perhaps you could accompany me, and we could spend the season there?”

            She became more quiet and contemplative.

            “I do know you have no fondness for the place. I do not hold much love for it either. But we do have a house there you have yet to inspect, and I do believe you had not the disposition to see all the town has to offer last time you were there. I can perhaps… show you new things, and we can create happy memories there. Together.” He said it rather insecurely, afraid he might displease her with such an idea.

            But she smiled. “I do have fond memories there. With you. It was where we started to become closer friends.” She brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead. “And I would go to the end of the Earth with you, my love, for your presence alone brings me joy.”

            He smiled. It was settled then.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some fluff to get the weekend started on the right foot.

            In another fortnight, they were off to London. Mrs. Dashwood would be at Delaford to keep Elinor company, which made Marianne more relieved of going and not having her sister beside her, like last time. Mrs. Jennings, not very keen on staying by herself now that her young companions were wed and had abandoned her, managed to convince Mrs. Dashwood and secure Margaret’s company, even though she was still a year too young for her coming out. Bur seen as both her older sisters were already wed, it should not be frowned upon. It was allowed under the promise of not getting marriage and such inappropriate ideas into her head quite yet, and Marianne assured her mother she would check on Margaret and have her and her chaperone over as often as possible. In the end, it would be good for Margaret, to learn the ways of society and how to not make a fool of oneself when the time came for her to properly come out. Her mother did hope she would make an excellent match, as her sisters were so lucky to have made.

            Marianne was apprehensive of being talked about, of embarrassing her husband, but was determined to make the best of it. If he thought she could pose a problem to him, he would not have asked her on the trip. For a whole season! But already on the carriage ride, she noticed his mood change into a bit of a brooding one.

            “Chris?” Her hand nudged his chin so he would shift his gaze from the window to her, as he sat beside her. He softly turned his head. “What is wrong?”

            “Nothing, my love.” He said, looking very grave still.

            She reproached him with a gaze and he could not help but smile. “I just don’t much enjoy London, as you also do not. I’ve told you this.” Though he now had more than enough reason to be happy, due to being beside her, the memories in that house still hung over him. “I had even considered selling the house. But of course it shall now be your decision.” He kissed her nose tenderly.

            “May I ask why you do not enjoy it?”

            He sighed, but proceeded to telling her all about how his brother would take his women there whilst Eliza withered away without attention. He heard so from neighbors that were relieved once he took over. His father would also do as much to his mother, he strongly suspected. And then there was young Eliza, who was misused and stood alone for months in that town, and came to birth Philip there. It was also where her mother passed, so terribly, a life wasted. And where he had fretted losing her, Marianne, forever, for days on end.

            “But I am here now,” she gave a smile, a shy one, regretful that she had added to the pain this wonderful man had felt in life, more pain than he ever deserved to endure.     “I hope you do not think that the ill memories regarding Eliza mean I still… nurture those feelings or…”

            “No, I understand. You feel sorrow for how things turned out. She did not deserve such a fate. And all could have been avoided if it weren’t malice from your own blood. Knowing you, my darling, you probably feel you could have done something differently to spare her…” Marianne caressed his cheek. “And of course there will always be some piece of your heart that is hers, for she was your first attachment. And she did not break your heart by actions of her own, nor did she give you reason to wish to cast aside such feelings… But I cannot be jealous of a dead woman.” She tried to smile playfully. She did not quite succeed.

            “Oh, Marianne, you should not. Because the love I feel for you… is incomparable. Only upon laying eyes on you did I learn what love truly is. There is not a piece of my heart that is not yours completely and irrevocably. Anything I felt before pales in comparison.”

            A proper smile finally came to her lips and she pulled his lips to hers.

            “Perhaps you should draw the curtains shut, Colonel. I will make you have sweet memories of at least the ride to London, or I dare not call myself Marianne Brandon any longer.”

            Colonel Brandon smiled in a sly and deliciously malicious fashion as he reached his hands to draw the curtains. He then cupped his hands on her cheeks and claimed her lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

 

            They arrived very tired, and took to bed early, after of course a quick inspection from the mistress of the house she had never seen. There was a small staff that kept things presentable there, and they never had met her either. Two maids from Delaford accompanied them nonetheless.

            The following day saw Colonel Brandon leaving very early, before Marianne was even properly awake, to take care of business that would keep him for most of the day.

            He was used to being out all day when in London. Searching for something to do, someone to call on, as to keep him away from that house. But now he felt badly, for his wife was there, alone. Waiting for him. And she too bore no love for London. Still she had come, for his sake. So he rushed through his business as much as he could to get back to her.

            He managed to enter the house without being noticed, and could lean on the drawing room doorway and silently watch as Marianne tied some cheerful holiday ribbons to candlesticks, making them look festive. Eve was also there, taking direction for her mistress as they decorated the room. Vases with varied flowers had been arranged, and sat on the table, awaiting their final destination.  Eve held one, and Marianne, without taking her eyes much off the candles she adorned, spoke to her.

            “I believe those should go on the center of the mantelpiece Eve. Don’t you agree?”

            “Yes Mrs. Brandon, they will look lovely there.”

            Eve turned, to take the vase to where her mistress had suggested. The mantelpiece was already adorned with a few candle holders, ribbons tied in bows, and spices, as well as a few porcelain Christmas decorations of which he had some vague memory. With that, Eve spotted the Colonel standing at the door.

            “Good afternoon, Mr. Brandon,” Eve bid, and only then did Marianne turn around to see her husband was there.

            “Good afternoon, Eve,” he smiled, then turned to see his lovely wife smile widely.

            “Eve,” she called as the maid placed the flower vase where she had bid, “would you be so kind as to go see if tea for Mr. Brandon is prepared?”

            “Certainly, Mrs. Brandon. Excuse me.” She curtsied, and off she went.

            That gave Marianne the opportunity of kissing her husband’s lips hello.

            “I see you’ve had a busy day. Are having one, I should say,” he corrected himself as she stepped away from him to finish placing the vases and candles that were ready.

            “Well, yes. Quite. I thought a little decoration would bring more cheer to the house, and more cheer to you, love. So we could create some happy memories. Do you like it?”

            He smiled. “Simply seeing you so happy and your beautiful smile is enough to make me happy.”

            She smiled as she blushed, and blew him a kiss while she held a flower vase to place at a side table. “I found some small porcelain things, Christmas as well as not, in the attic.” She pointed to the mantle and some side tables that held them. “I hope they don’t bring any bad memories.”

            “No.” He finally walked in to closer inspect it all. “I believe they were my mother’s. She rather enjoyed Christmas. She liked caroling with us.”

            “Oh, how merry! We should do so. I must add ‘find Christmas music’ to my list of chores.”

            “Oh, there is a list, is there?” He smiled.

            “Certainly there is a list!” said Marianne, and he pulled her as he sat down, to sit on his lap.

            “May I be filled in?”

            “Well, I shall wish to go out and buy some fabric and ribbons, and some new decorations. And I wish you to come with me.”

            “Absolutely,” he smiled.

            “And I know we should not bring greenery into the house until Christmas eve, but one of the boys downstairs were kind enough to already see where we can purchase a pine tree, so we will have to have that picked up, and some things to adorn it with as well.”

            “A pine tree, huh?” He still smiled widely, amused.

            “Yes! Apparently it is the latest fashion in court, word around town is. A German tradition that was brought over.”

            “Is it?” Her excitement was very amusing to him, it filled his heart. “And how is it you already have the word around town? Have you been out and about?” He asked in a playful tone.

            “Only around the corner with Eve, to buy some ribbons. I shall wait for you to show me around town.” She leaned over to brush her lips to his cheek.

            “I will do it, gladly,” he rumbled next to her ear.

            “A few of our neighbors were kind enough to call. And upon seeing the fuss of me adorning the place, gave me a few tips. That is how I know.”

            Colonel Brandon was glad the neighbors were mostly sweet old widows, who would be at an age with his mother should she have survived her husband. They would welcome Marianne, and not judge her or whisper behind her back. They probably didn’t even quite know what had happened the previous year, as they didn’t take to attending balls anymore, mostly.

            “I am so glad you had a pleasant day, love.”

            “How was your day?”  
            “Spent with boring old men such as myself.”

            “You are not boring. Nor are you old.” She caressed his cheek, her thumb slipping to the corner of his lips.

            “But good business was made,” he continued, the corners of his lips curling upward.

            They heard Eve approaching. She did so a bit noisily on purpose, for she knew they would be cuddling or fawning over one another, as they often did. All the servants at Delaford had learned to give them time to compose, and found them sweet. The ones in London would learn soon enough.

            Marianne rose from his lap and returned to the piano top, where her candles and ribbons and glue lay, over the cover of a lace towel that adorned it, to not ruin the instrument, of course.

            “Mrs. Brandon, where should tea be served?” Eve asked as she appeared shyly at the door.

            “The breakfast parlor will be fine. Thank you, Eve.”

            “It shall be served promptly,” the girl said before she left.

            The Brandons followed shortly after, to have their meal. Not before Christopher touched her hand to his lips and kissed it, as his other hand caressed it tenderly, eyes piercing hers.

            “Thank you. For being so wonderful, and making this place home for me, as you have at Delaford. I love you.”

            “You take care of me, and I take care of you, my darling. I love you more,” she answered with a smile.

 

            The following day had Colonel Brandon held up out of the house for longer than he had planned. He had promised Marianne he would escort her around town for a bit in the afternoon. Alas, it was darkening outside when he managed to arrive.

            He expected Marianne to be working alongside Eve again in spreading decoration and joy throughout the house. Or simply to be waiting to scold him for not keeping his promise. But he walked in to an empty and silent house, much as he had a thousand times before.

            Before he could go searching for a soul, Eve came to greet him.

            “Good evening, Mr. Brandon. Will you be supping this evening? Mrs. Brandon has asked to inform you she will not.”

            “Where is Mrs. Brandon?” He asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

            “She felt unwell and took to her rooms not long ago, sir.”  
            “Ah… and… do you know what this unwellness pertained to? Has a doctor been called?” He was torn between believing she had been suddenly taken ill, or that she was greatly upset with him and wished to avoid him. Either option made his heart heavy and his mind worry.

            Eve blushed and averted her eyes. “It is…” her voice seemed to be quieter in her bashfulness as well, “… lady issues, sir. She said a doctor need not be called.”

            “Ah. I see. Thank you, Eve,” he smiled graciously. “I will be supping, yes, but first I shall check Mrs. Brandon is well.” He knew that the pains during her monthly blood had increased for the past two months or so. He should have figured it was that.

            Eve curtsied and left as he held onto the bannister beside him and gained impulse to hurry up the stairs. He knocked before entering their bedchamber to see Marianne in bed, looking very pale and weak. She smiled at him softly, but did not much move.

            “Are you well, my angel?”

            “Yes. Just the pains of my blood, that is all. I shall be better on the morrow.”

            He sat on the edge of the bed and caressed her forehead, brushing away locks of her hair. “Forgive me my tardiness. It got in the way of our outing.”

            “No matter. It would have had to be cut short anyway.” Marianne smiled feebly.

            “Why would you not call a doctor, love? You say your pains were not as strong before. You need to be examined.”

            “No need.” Her cheeks colored in embarrassment. “Should it continue as such, and should it deter our… conceiving a child, I will call a doctor. But mama says it should not be reason to worry. Her pains have always been strong but never gave way to anything more serious.” She was gripping the covers on her lap, and he managed to pry one hand away to be held in his. He kissed it tenderly. “Will you… hate me,” she started and his countenance suddenly showed astonishment at the thought he could ever hater her “… if I am unable to give you a child? I sometimes feel as if this is punishment for what I said, of not wanting children right away.”

            “Oh love,” he caressed her cheek and leaned in to peck it, touching the corner of her mouth as well. “Nonsense. And I could never hate you. You alone are reason enough to keep me happy for a hundred lifetimes.” He again took her hand to his lips. He did worry for her though, and her stubbornness in not seeing a doctor. But this was not the time to insist on that.

            “Are you certain you will not dine? I will have it brought up for you.”

            “No, no. You go.”

            “You need to eat something. Some toast and warm milk, then?”

            “Okay…perhaps later.”

            “And a warm bath might help as well, yes?”

            She just nodded shyly.

            Again he kissed her hand, then he stood. “I will be back shortly, my queen. Meanwhile, you rest.” And he left the room.

            As he came down the stairs, Eve announced dinner was served in the dinning parlor.

            “Thank you. Will you please ask Mrs. Barrison if it would be too much trouble to prepare some kind of warm broth and toast for me to take up to Mrs. Brandon? And also see that some water is heated for both our baths, and that the herbal tea that lessens her pains be prepared as well.”

            “Yes sir, of course.”

            “Thank you, Eve.”  
            He ate as hurriedly as he could without being too ungentlemanly, and by the time he was finished, her bath water was ready to be taken up. He did so on his own, requesting that his bath water be readied only after her broth and toast were ready. He would not have minded bathing with her, as they usually did, but he knew that during some days in the month, she was strongly opposed to it.

            He poured the water in the tub and called her forth to bathe. She came, in small and slow steps, and was reluctant to undress before his eyes.

            “You need not be here for this,” she said shyly

            “I will turn around and promise not to look, if it will make you feel better, though there is really nothing to be ashamed of, my sweet Marianne.”

            She just stood there, refusing to expose herself to his eyes, and so he turned around.

            After she was properly settled in the tub, with everything that needed to be disposed of, disposed, and her virtue covered by a clean cloth, she allowed him to scrub her body as he had wished to, while she sat back and let the warmth of the water soothe her pains.

            Once Marianne was in her nightgown and in bed, Violet came up with the tray that held her light meal. She protested that he had had it made, but ate gladly, as her pains had subsided a bit with the bath, allowing hunger to rear its head. As she ate, he bathed quickly, to then descend with her tray and collect the herbal tea she had mentioned her mother used to make to ease the mild discomfort she felt when unwed. He took her a cup, and after she drank it, they both got into bed.

            He embraced her from behind, putting the pressure of his large, comforting hands on her belly, in a sweet and soothing way. It always helped, and made her sleep comfortably.

            “Christopher Brandon… you sweet, loving man. I am so immensely fortunate to have you love me.”

            “It is I who am fortunate to be allowed to love you, my dear.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, people, you have caught up to me. I do have ideas, still, but I need to fit them together properly and write them. I will try to continue to do it once a week at least, so I won't leave you hanging, but if I happen to post a little later than usual, please don't hate me. And hopefully, while I post this ideas I still do have, inspiration for the rest will come so I can end it already. It's not too far from the end, but I need a few chapters still in the middle, to get us there. And perhaps a few more for a sort of prolonged epilogue, since a few people have asked me to see what they would be like with kids... but I need my muse to get working again. I'll rewatch the movie and see if the Colonel speaks to me more. Meanwhile, enjoy.

            In two days Marianne was feeling completely herself again, and luck would have it that her husband was free of business for a couple of days. So they were off to explore the town early in the day. They first made a visit to Mrs. Jennings and Margaret, as they had the day before, and an invitation was made for supper at the Brandon household in two nights. They also invited the ladies to take a stroll with the couple that day, but they had plans of their own, and did not wish to intrude on those of the happy couple. Margaret was to finally go to the rooms. Mrs. Jennings guaranteed she would take excellent care of her.

            Colonel Brandon and Marianne then set off to roam the streets of London. Marianne was enchanted with the variety of shops and the beauty of what was sold in them. She acquired several new ribbons and a couple of different fabrics to produce new tablecloths, table runners and decorative cloths in general, to put over the pianoforte, tables, side tables and sideboards.

            Just a small while before lunch, they found a nice park in which to enjoy a bit of nature. They then found somewhere in which to have a nice lunch.

            After their meal, they took to looking at shop windows again. They made quite an impression everywhere they passed. Always arm in arm, smiling, looking as if they were genuinely enjoying one another. It astonished most shop keepers that he would accompany her to buy ribbons and whatnot, which most women did accompanied by other ladies, for gentlemen had no patience for it and thought it a woman’s affair.

            His attentiveness in stopping every time she wished to look at a shop window, was also source of amazement. Everyone could see just by the way he looked at her that he would give her the world if she asked for it. And she, it could be also noticed, was not the type who would take from him just because she could and he was good enough to give it. There was love and tenderness of her part as well. Such a rare sight, especially in couples with a large age difference, and such a difficult thing to grasp with only looks and touches propriety allowed. Yet, they seemed to enhance it all with their sincere feelings.

            All of that was further attested to in the way they dressed. They had rather liked the idea of matching, of being identified easily as belonging to one another. They did not do it daily, but today she happened to be wearing a green dress, and he, his green waistcoat she loved so much for it brought out the green in his eyes. Though it was a dark shade of green, and hers was light, they still made for a handsome couple.

            Marianne was so content in just walking arm in arm with her husband that the fear she had felt of encountering acquaintances of his who might have heard of her and her past foolishness and shame had slipped her mind. They did stop various times to greet someone or other, to whom he introduced her, and she curtsied graciously and carried small conversation, not even worried what their opinion of her might be. Her husband’s arm beside her gave her comfort and strength, as did the fact he introduced her with pride as his wife.

            Marianne saw some nice porcelain decorations that could go well in their home with the ones she had found in the attic. She stopped to inspect them in a shop window, and he stopped beside her. But as she tried to make up her mind as to which one she would take, he caressed her gloved hand, which rested in the nook of his arm.

            “Will you be well here, while I go in the neighboring shop to say a quick hello?” It was where he had most of his clothing measured and made for years now. He knew the shop owner and wished to bid him hello. He could also perhaps use a couple new linen shirts while he was in town.

            “Certainly, yes, Chris.” She smiled. “I shall be in with you shortly. I will just choose which ones we shall take, so when we come out of the tailor shop we can have them wrapped up quickly and go.”

            “You need not accompany me to such a boring task as to buy a shirt.”

            “Nonsense. You have accompanied me all over, what sort of horrid wife would I be if I did not go into one shop you fancied?”

            He smiled and took her hand from his arm to touch to his lips. “I will be just inside if you need me,” he said as he walked next door.

            Marianne examined the decorations intently, and decided on three she would definitely take, and one other she would ask her husband’s opinion on. She began walking next door, eyes still lingering on the window of the shop that was being left behind, when she felt a grip tighten around her forearm. It was very tight, hurting her even, uncharacteristic of her sweet husband. Her head quickly spun to examine what was happening and her eyes were met with eyes she once lived to lose herself in. Those of Willoughby. The charm and appeal they once had to her were no more. Still, she felt slightly faint headed and ill at the sight of him. It had been so long. A twelvemonth almost. He had caused her so much happiness, then so much pain, and had gotten away unscathed. She did not quite know what she felt at this moment, or how to react.

            “Hello, Marianne.” He smiled, and the sight that once left her besotted seemed to now cause her revolt.

            Her arm tingled in pain, and that finally made her find her voice. “Unhand me!”

            All was said in hushed tones, to not call forth unwanted attention. He held her in a way passersby would not notice anything other than two acquaintances bidding hello to one another.

            “Marianne, I…”

            “Do not dare breathe my name!” She found the strength to protest, though she still felt ill and weak. “Unhand me. You are hurting me,” she said, on the verge of tears.

            “You never responded to my letter,” he stated, not letting go of her arm.

            Marianne parted her lips to respond but did not have the time. Colonel Brandon had left the shop of which they stood in front of and glimpsed the scene. Willoughby did not notice, having his back to the door, watching for an answer from Marianne. Her husband swiftly gripped Willoughby’s forearm, the one of the hand that held his wife. His grip must have been tight, for Willoughby’s hand loosened around her arm and she pulled it away, rubbing it, cheeks red in anger, pain, confusion and also due to the effort of holding back tears.

            Though Marianne was pried away from him and stood now beside her husband, Colonel Brandon did not let go of Willoughby’s arm. The cad flexed his hand, trying to get away as his face winced in pain and surprise. But it was to no avail.

            “Mr. Willoughby. Lovely to see you,” Colonel Brandon said as some ladies walked by. He too held Willoughby in such a way others would not notice conflict. Marianne cold clearly hear contempt in her husband’s clipped tone, though it might be unnoticeable to those who passed. “May we help you in some way?”

            Willoughby winced while trying to maintain a smug countenance, show himself superior, trying to break free of the Colonel’s grip without causing a scene. After the ladies passed, completely unaware of what truly went on, Colonel Brandon spoke again, this time under his breath and so close to Willoughby’s ear, not even Marianne could hear him properly. “If you _ever_ presume to touch my wife again, I will see to it that you do not have a hand to do it a third time.” His tone was low and menacing. “Have I made myself clear?” His eyes, narrowed in anger, were barely noticeable under the brim of his hat. But it was menacing enough to worry Willoughby.

            Willoughby nodded begrudgingly.

            “Say the words,” Colonel Brandon muttered as his teeth were clenched in anger.

            “Crystal clear, Colonel.”

            “Good.” The Colonel finally let go of the blaggard. He walked away, rubbing his arm over his fancy coat and flexing his fingers to get circulation flowing properly again.

            Though Willoughby was gone, Christopher remained grave. He offered her his arm in silence and they walked on. She was a bit reluctant to speak. Could he be cross with her? Could he feel she did something to attract this? He had not seen the beginning of the interaction. Should she try to explain? Perhaps the street was not the place to do it. So on they walked, silently, all the way home, and Marianne left the decorations she wished to acquire behind.

 

            They walked into the house and Christopher let go of her arm, not harshly, just absently. He headed to the drawing room, to the silver platter which held the crystal bottle with the brandy and a few glasses. He poured him a drink and took a rather large sip of it.

            “Chris?” Her voice, worried and hurt, pulled him out of his trance. “Are you cross with me?” He turned around to see her sorrowful eyes and bright pink cheeks as she looked up at him, awaiting an answer. She rubbed her arm, an angry red palm print on it.

            “No! No, my love. Why would you think that?” His mind still moved slowly with all the different feelings boiling inside him. Anger, at the audacity. Sorrow, for past memories. Worry, at what was said and what the blaggard’s interests could be.

            “You said not a word to me on our way home. And we walked straight home, when I still wished to enter that shop and buy some decorations… and frankly, you look like you are ready to lash out at any moment.” She had never seen him like this. It scared her a bit. Though his imposing defense of her honor had aroused her mildly, she could not lie.

            “Oh, my Marianne… forgive me!” His countenance changed to one of sorrow and concern for what he had done. For what she thought of him. If he had hurt her. He rushed to her and cupped her cheeks, kissing her forehead. “I had not realized… we shall return to the shops immediately.”

            “No, no matter. I just need you to know I did not initiate that, I gave him no liberty to…”

            “I know, love. I know.” Though it was a relief to hear. He caressed her curls, then pulled her in for an embrace. “I am not cross with you. Never. It is he who…” his tone changed, became more somber. “I loathe him. And that he would dare…”

            “Hush, my sweet Christopher. He is not worth such a strong feeling. Let it be, do not let him ruin an otherwise beautiful day. Please. I am well, we are well… it is all that matters.” She said this looking up at him, hands rested on his chest.

            He looked at her rather lovingly, and relieved. Until he took her hand in his to kiss, and laid eyes on the red mark on her arm. He caressed it lightly. “He hurt you,” he stated, a bit of anger still dancing behind his eyes.

            “It does not hurt that much any longer. I am sure it will fade completely soon,” she tried, though she winced gingerly as she still felt discomfort.

            He took her palm to his lips and kissed it. “I will fetch you a cloth and some warm water to tend to that. And I promise we will return to that shop on the morrow, and visit as many others as your heart desires.” He kissed her palm again. “Please, forgive me.”

            “There is nothing to forgive, love. You are entitled to feel as you did, considering all that has transpired with him.” Marianne caressed his cheek and he kissed her palm once more before exiting the room to head to the kitchens.

           

            Marianne finally gave up and rose from the tepid water in the tub. She had waited for Chris to join her, but he had not. He had been his sweet old self while tending to her arm, wrapping a cloth drenched in hot water on it to assuage the pain and redness. During dinner, he had not been grave or angry, but rather seemed discouraged and ashamed. And now, he had not come to join her for their bath, which she very much missed, since it had been some days since the last one now.

            She dried herself off and put on one of her fine muslin and lace nightgowns, still hoping to shift his mood. But as she left her dressing room, she saw he was already in bed, laid on his side, his back to her. Marianne got into bed beside him, then pulled herself closer, to embrace him from behind.

            “What is the matter, my darling Chris?” She asked close to his ear as her hand wedged its way in between his arm and side to caress his cloth-covered torso. “I waited for you to take our bath. You say you are not cross with me, but it does not seem to be the case.”

            “I assure you, I am not, love.”

            “Then what is it?”

            He sighed. “I feel ashamed for how I acted today. It was not behavior proper of a man who deserves to call a sweet angel such as yourself his own. I put my feelings and needs before your own. I do not deserve to touch you, be in the same room as you, even.”

            She kissed his cheek and nipped his ear. Her hands slid down from his chest, then stomach, and found his dormant manhood. She fiddled lightly with him over his nightshirt.

            “Well, is it alright if I touch you?” She asked teasingly.

            “Marianne…” He was still slightly discouraged, but her handy work was getting through to him.

            “Chris…” she breathed. “You defended my honor. What more could be expected of a husband? And I must reveal to you that…” her hands still worked at their task, now pulling on his nightshirt to touch his bare skin underneath. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “… how you protected me, and claimed me as your own… I found it very… exciting.” He groaned softly at her touch, her breath in his ear. She continued. “Will you ignore your adoring wife’s needs now, my sweet, ardent lover?”

            He took her hands from him and held them so he could turn around and face her. There was barely time to see his face, his eyes, what lay behind them, to verify she had not been too bold. His lips took over her in hunger and passion, and her hand lowered from his shoulder back to his member as his pulled her close by the waist. She felt he grew against her palm and thigh, so she smiled when his lips broke apart from hers to plant soft, slow kisses on her neck.

            He then pulled back to observe her, his large yet soft hands coming up from her side to her lace covered – just barely – breast.

            “You look stunning. But you do know I prefer to see nothing covering your delicious figure,” he smiled.

            “Then perhaps you should take action and rectify that,” she smiled in return.

            His hand slid down her waist and thighs, and up under her gown to find her center. When he reached it, surprise lit his face. “Marianne?” he asked in a low rumble as he felt her sex was completely bare of its curls, of its natural cover.

            She gasped, then blushed as she remembered she had done that. It had escaped her mind completely. She bit on her lip in embarrassment. “I thought it might… entice you more. Does it not please you?”

            He smiled slyly. “Do you feel I have not been properly… enticed these months we are married? Is my performance lacking?” He asked in jest as his fingers easily found her nub of nerves to stroke gently. She, however, did not perceive the jest in his words and worried.

            “No! It is not that at all! I am thoroughly satisfied with our intimacy,” she said with a touch of despair.

            “Then what prompted you to feel this was needed, love?” His fingers spread her, exposing all of her so he could be very thorough in his caresses. She moaned and gripped his shoulder, then bit her lip, both due to pleasure and worry.

            “Well?” He was smiling, and still pleasing her with his hand. So it would not anger him… would it? The truth was, he had enjoyed it. And excitement stirred in him at the prospect of seeing her, all of her, with no barriers. He could not wait to pull back the covers and look.

            “I…” a moan interrupted her, “I… I thought it might… encourage…” she bit her lip yet again.

            “Marianne… I thought I had already made it clear you can speak to me about any and everything. Do not fear. And in such cases, the more you speak the more fun we can have.” He smiled, his hands still gently at work, making her quiver. He suckled on her lips to further encourage her to speak.

            “I…. I like it when you kiss me,” she breathed. He kissed her again.

            “I am kissing you, my darling. Is this what you like?” He suckled on her lips and she quivered. He thought he had caught her meaning, but teased her to be sure.

            “No…” she moaned.

            “No? You do not enjoy my kisses?” He continued teasing, her lips, her core, her mind.

            “Of course I do! I just…” His hands were making it hard for her to focus. “I meant I… shaved because I like it when you kiss me. And perhaps…” another loud moan escaped her, and she stopped talking.

            It was as he had imagined. He smiled and pulled his hand away from her. “Then ask me to do it, Marianne,” he whispered in her ear.

            “Please kiss me, Chris,” she asked desperately.

            His lips latched onto hers and devoured her. “Like this?” He smiled.

            “You know what I mean!”

            “I’m afraid you will have to be more specific, love,” he chuckled.

            “Please,” she whined slightly, “kiss my center. Make it burn fervently hot for you, Chris,” she breathed.

            He pulled the covers down and pulled her nightgown up, up, slowly, until he pulled it off completely. He admired her bare body, her bare privates, and liked what he saw. Especially as she slightly spread her legs. He then lowered his lips to them, after having suckled on a breast to further entice her. Her breathing was heavy at the mere prospect. He adored it. He kissed the flesh below her navel and pulled the covers over his head as he traveled down to her mound. She pushed the covers back again.

            “I would like to see,” she stated when he looked inquisitively up at her. His lips then curled upward.

            “Naughty, naughty Marianne,” he said, and his lips were on her soon after, his eyes fixed on hers.

            His lips suckled on and kissed her deeply as she watched intently, quickening, moaning. When his lips gave her some relent, kissing her thighs and mound lightly, his fingers took over, only lightly tracing her exposed path and entrance, driving her insane. When his lips returned, a wave of relief washed over her, and her pleasure continued to build.

            “Oh Chris… Chris… yes…” She gasped as her hand brushed his hair back, sank into it. The other gripped the sheets beside her hip. His hand found hers as he continued at his task, and their fingers intertwined. She trembled all over, her legs especially out of control, and then she could see no more, her body relaxing on the bed, white lights exploding behind her eyes.

            She felt the need to draw her legs together as he removed himself from in between them, and that she did, turning to her side, still catching her breath.

            His nose came to rub her cheek and her neck, as did his manhood rub on her behind. That is what made her aware to her surroundings once more. He nipped her earlobe, then licked the length of its shell.

            “May I take my pleasure now?” He rumbled in her ear. “I ache for you, my Marianne.”

            “Yes.” Her hand reached around to caress his hair. “Please.” He never really took pleasure. It was ever mutual. If anything, he gave more than he took. “I am yours, to do with as you wish.”

            She was about to turn to face him, but he was quicker. His rigid manhood slipped inside her as she was, and his hand came to cup and tease her ample bosom.

            “I love you, my Marianne,” he whispered in her ear as he moved inside her.

            “I love you,” she whimpered as her pleasure began to build again.

            “I can hardly believe you are mine.” His hand slipped from her bosom, slowly down her stomach, to her mound as he slowly moved into and out of her.

            “I am, I am. Completely,” she moved, and then suddenly a gasp cut her words as his fingers found her nub so easily.

            “Chris,” she panted, “please. Yes.” From then on, her words were incoherent mumbling as his hips and fingers moved against her, until it culminated in both their simultaneous pleasures.

            He smelled her hair and caressed her thighs as they caught their breaths. She then turned to face him, smiling. Her hand caressed his cheek, down to his collarbone and chest, still in his nightshirt.

            “Where did you get the idea to… rid yourself of your curls?” he finally asked, smiling.

            “Did you not enjoy it?”

            “Oh I did, very much. Very much,” he rumbled. “I am just curious.”

            “Well, when we first arrived some days ago, I was descending to the kitchens to meet the staff and see that dinner would be served on time, for you were out all day and would surely arrive famished…” She paused and blushed as she played with the strings on his nightshirt.

            “Hmmm?” He nudged her to press on.

            “I overheard two of the maids talking. They knew not I was there, and I should not have stayed and listened, I should have made myself noticed… but they talked of someone they know, whose husband did not show much interest… and she even suspected he lay with other women. Well, she heard of this being done and decided to try it, to entice him. And it worked, amazingly well, from what they said.”

            “For shame, Marianne, hearing the maids gossip!” He berated her, but in a loving and playful manner.

            “I did not mean to!”

            “And you believe I do not show enough interest?”

            “No, it is not that! I just… well, I very, very much, immensely enjoyed it when you… bestowed oral attention on me. I could never even have imagined that such an act was possible. But it was not such an often occurrence… and I do see how it is very one-sided, and could be very displeasing even, for you, so I thought maybe this way…” It had been due to that she had had the urge to do it. But once she had… she felt so free. And it had made her blood less messy. She hoped he enjoyed it, so she could continue to do it.

            “If you enjoyed it so, you need only ask,” he smiled with malice.

            “You are very prone to doing things only to please me, I was afraid you would perform such a task without enjoyment. I do not want that.”

            “I do enjoy it. Tasting you in any way pleases me. Seeing you pleased, pleases me, my love. I simply was not aware of how much you enjoyed it, since you mostly looked ashamed when…”

            She blushed and smiled shyly.

            “Like that.” He chuckled. “This is why I tell you to be open with me, love.”

            She just nodded.

            “Is that why one of my straight razors went missing?” He asked to her temple, as he embraced her.

            She blushed again and nodded slowly under him. “It is in my dressing room.”

            He chuckled lightly.

            After a few moments of silence, and cuddling, Marianne spoke again.

            “If… I… were to… kiss you in a similar fashion, would that… would it bring you enjoyment as well?” Perhaps for men it was only uncomfortable. Or perhaps he did not enjoy it, since he never requested it. Maybe he did not know if it was pleasurable. No, she should not be so naïve. He of course had had experiences before her. It was the way of the world.

            “It would, yes.” He answered as he embraced her. “But do not bother yourself with that, love. You do not need to… I do not need to… It is not something ladies would feel comfortable doing, I imagine.”

            “Would you think of me as less of a lady for doing so for you? For wishing to please my husband as he pleases me?”

            “No, never, I…” He was at a lost, a bit abashed as she looked up at him. “I do not want you to feel you need to, is all. I am very pleased with our physical love as it is, I would ask for nothing more.”

            Marianne pushed him to lie back on the bed and straddled him, a smile adorning her face. Her hips began to roll atop him, as her warmth and moistness was rubbed on this length.

            He raised an eyebrow in intrigue and she proceeded to pushing his nightshirt up. When it reached his neck, he moved to properly pull it off.

            “Much better,” she stated as she caressed his chest. “So much better,” she smiled, still rolling her hips on him. He began to stiffen beneath her. His eyes gazed her with admiration, desire, excitement, love. His hands caressed her thighs up to her waist, down to her buttocks, back to her thighs again.

            Once he was almost fully rigid, she shifted off of him, so she could lower her lips to his member as she knelt in between his legs. She stroked him a few times before finally creating the courage to kiss his tip. She feared doing an inadequate job. But just that kiss had him quivering and licking his lips. She smiled and proceeded to licking his whole length, slowly, reveling in the grunts he let out and how ragged his breathing became. She then encompassed what she could of him with her mouth. That made him roll his head back.

            He forced his eyes open once more to watch her as her lips moved around him, her hands helping at his base. It was too much to take.

            “Marianne,” he managed through his heavy breaths. “Marianne, sweetheart, you should stop. Otherwise I will… I cannot… please.”

            She understood, and hurriedly moved to lower herself onto him. Just the feeling of her warmth around him could be enough to set him out of control. But he held strong. She gently bounced atop him, supporting herself on his chest, and a few moments of such a sight and such a feeling were enough to set him off the edge; he gripped her buttocks, holding her close to him as he did, and soon after regretted not having pleased her more.

            “Forgive me, my sweet,” he said as she lay down atop him, touching her forehead to his, “I lost control too soon, you did not enjoy it.”

            “I enjoyed seeing you enjoy it,” she smiled. “I had already taken pleasure before as well.”

            “No, I must make it up to you,” he said, still catching his breath.

            “If we keep at this game, we will not get an ounce of sleep tonight.”

            “Is that such a bad thing?” He asked, claiming her lips, his large hand on the back of her head, fingers intertwined with her hair. He then swiftly turned her to lie beneath him, as she giggled against his lips.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed one more! Yes!!! And not too late.  
> Hope to see you next week again.

            On the following day, Colonel Brandon dare not schedule any of his lingering business. He would remain at her disposal. He was determined to make up for his behavior the previous day, and give her absolutely everything her heart desired.

            They left the house soon after breakfast, and they took the carriage to Mrs. Jennings’ home, to fetch Miss Margaret. They took the carriage precisely because Margaret was to accompany them, and she might not have the strength to walk all they wished to. Mrs. Jennings was to visit old friends and would not join them.

            The first order of business after the young Dashwood was sitting beside her sister in the carriage, facing the Colonel, was to go see the caged exotic animals at the Tower of London Menagerie. Neither had ever seen them, and both had enjoyed and taken interest in Colonel Brandon’s stories, so he thought it would be merry to visit such a place with them, even though he had reservations about how those beautiful beasts were kept caged. He also thought it would be wise to refrain from telling them what was the alternative to paying the three and a half pence for admittance. He would much rather pay twice as much. Even if they did realize how cruel it all could be considered, the outing would at least have been instructive. Everyone had to attend at least once.

            They were both marveled to look at the beasts, most of which they had seen little more than drawings of. And they did comment that though beautiful and curious to look at and be able to know and learn about, it would maybe be best to let the beasts roam freely. Even degenerates were sent to the colonies and had the chance to start over and roam free, when not shown the mercy of being taken to the gallows. It was far better than remaining locked up.

            All in all, it was a positive and cheerful outing. None of the animals seemed particularly fatigued or ill that day, and there were no mishaps, so the ladies did take enjoyment from it.

            Once that was done with, they took the carriage again, and Colonel Brandon instructed the coachman to stop at a park, one that was nearest to the streets Marianne would surely like to walk, where they would find the items she still looked for. The shop he had so rudely pulled her away from the previous day would also be nearby. He dearly hoped the decorations she had her heart set on would not have been purchased since then.

            After having walked the park for a bit and enjoyed some of nature, they took to luncheon. The park was also in the vicinity of a respectable venue where he could take the ladies for their meal. Afterwards, Colonel Brandon roamed the streets of London, his beautiful wife on one arm, her – _their_ – younger sister on the other. Marianne was the one who led them in truth, Margaret excited to go anywhere, and the Colonel only too happy to follow his wife and give her whatever her heart desired.

            It was true, he did wish to make up for the previous day and take Marianne wherever she wished to go, to buy whatever she needed to buy. But he was also escorting her in fear that Willoughby would be found again, and would be impertinent once more. So he could not leave her unattended, not for one minute. And his eyes roamed, looking for any sign of the cad, as his ears attentively heard what Marianne and Margaret wanted next.

            Marianne went from shop to shop, buying ribbons and decorations, acquiring yet more cheerful fabric to spruce up their home. Something of adding new curtains might have been said. She also acquired things that could make for decorations for that pine tree they would have in the house. Margaret thought it was such a merry idea, and a date was set for her to visit and help Marianne and Colonel Brandon decorate it.

At one point, in one of the fabric shops, Margaret seemed to have fallen in love with a very fine, dark green fabric. She caressed it, stating that it felt really nice, and would make for a beautiful dress. She even encouraged Marianne to acquire a few yards and have one made for herself.

But it was Colonel Brandon who took charge and bought such a fabric. Margaret seemed very pleased that her suggestion was taken into consideration by someone. Marianne made some inquiries towards her husband as they headed to pay the shop owner, while Margaret waited by the door. She was worried that he would yet again spoil her, when she had plenty new dresses she had not even had the chance to wear yet. But what he said to his dear wife put a smile on her face and soothed her heart.

From there, they headed to a nice seamstress’ shop. Margaret was excited to see Marianne be fitted for her surely beautiful new dress, but once Colonel Brandon told the seamstress she would be taking Margaret’s measures, the young Dashwood’s countenance changed into one of surprise.

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Miss Margaret,” he smiled. He only resorted to calling her Captain Margaret when they were amongst family now.

Marianne was holding her husband’s arm and smiling herself. “I already have too many dresses, Margaret. You will certainly enjoy it more. Go on, it will be our gift to you.”

Margaret almost squealed in excitement and spread out her arms, to encompass both of them in a grateful hug. She then stepped away, recomposing herself as the Brandons chuckled. Margaret then stepped to the also smiling seamstress to have her measures taken and a few styles of dresses shown to her, so she could pick her own. The seamstress was already familiar with the Colonel, that being where he had ordered Marianne’s new array of dresses from, before they were wed. She was very pleased to finally meet the so much heard of Mrs. Brandon.

They then took to the streets again, and as Marianne entered one of the shops she would, Colonel Brandon stopped in front of it, retaining Margaret’s arm as Marianne let go to make her way to the shop door. When she noticed she was alone, she looked back. Margaret was also looking up at her brother inquisitively as he smiled.

“Miss Margaret, I have a… sort of mission for you. Are you willing to aid me?”

“Yes!” Margaret said eagerly, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Colonel Brandon leaned down to speak directly into her ear. She listened intently as Marianne watched them, smiling, curiosity consuming her.

“Yes, Colonel,” she said, saluting him and smiling. “I will not let you down.” And she moved to Marianne’s side.

“What is all this about?” Marianne asked.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, love,” Colonel Brandon said, smiling mischievously as only Marianne knew he could.

Marianne then looked to Margaret “Oh, you two have secrets now?”

Margaret smiled. “Can’t a brother and sister share some secrets?”

Marianne still looked curiously from her husband to her sister. Colonel Brandon spoke up. “Go on, purchase what you will. I will be here when you come out.” His smile was reassuring.

Margaret pulled her inside by her hand as she still looked confused. “Margaret? What is happening?”

“I am not to leave your side, and not to let you leave the shop until such a time as the Colonel is outside waiting for us. And I am to report any issues.”

Marianne understood. He did not want her to have a run in with Willoughby again. And this was the sort of shop he would most likely not enter. Her husband was protective of her, worried, perhaps even a bit jealous, and she much appreciated it. “And where did Colonel Brandon go?” She asked.

“That I am not at liberty to divulge,” Margaret smiled.

 

Once they exited the shop, Colonel Brandon was there at the pavement, waiting for them, and the bulk of a package could be seen in his coat pocket. Marianne only grew more curious. “What were you off doing?” She asked so only he could hear as she took one arm and Margaret took the other, and he took yet another item from his wife’s hands and put it into the cloth bag he carried for her.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he smiled.

They finally made their way back to the shop in front of which that incident had happened the previous day. As Marianne observed the windows, remembering what she had seen the previous day and what she had chosen, her husband watched her with love and admiration, hoping she would still find what she wanted. Margaret held his other arm, though he didn’t much pay mind to her at the moment. Until she pulled quietly on his arm, that is. He looked back to her and her big green eyes looked meaningfully at him, then looked away, down the street. He followed her gaze to see Willoughby coming down the same way he did the previous day. Luckily, Marianne was focused on the shop window.

The cad stopped in his tracks as he sighted them. Colonel Brandon’s intense, loathing stare was enough to make him change directions, crossing to the other side of the road. Colonel Brandon then looked down at Margaret appreciatively. Such a perceptive young woman. When he charged her with Marianne’s safety earlier, he had not said why or given an account of what had happened. Still, knowing everything that had transpired a twelvemonth ago, she had the consideration of warning him. She smiled, as did he.

“Oh, there it is,” Marianne pointed, seizing both their attentions. “What make you of it?” She asked, more to her husband than their companion.

“It’s beautiful,” Margaret answered. But Marianne stood in place, waiting for Christopher’s opinion.

“Lovely, angel,” he turned to say close to her temple, then lightly brushed his lips on her skin. “Hurry in and acquire it,” he said, and that she did, pulling her walking companions with her.

The next step was to go to the carriage and head home. Colonel Brandon sat across from the ladies and had to pull the parcels from his pocket to sit comfortably beside him, as did the cloth bags with Marianne’s purchases. They were wrapped in simple brown paper, the parcels, so nothing would be given away, much to the observant Marianne’s displeasure.

“What are those, Christopher?” She could not help but ask.

He smiled. Then looked to Margaret. “What do you say, Captain Margaret, shall I tell her?”

Margaret touched a finger to her chin as if contemplating his question. She then smiled. “I think not, no.”

“Margaret! Honestly! When did you become so mischievous and malicious? Towards me, your own sister no less!”

Margaret just laughed as Marianne huffed. Colonel Brandon also smiled at his wife’s outrage. “You will find out by the end of the day,” Christopher assured. “I promise.”  


Margaret had tea at the Brandon residence. Then, Marianne requested her loving husband escort her sister to Mrs. Jennings’, who was adamant on not having supper on her own. Marianne was tired, and hugged her sister goodbye, reinforcing that she and her hostess should be there for supper on the morrow, and as Marianne climbed the stairs to rest a while before dinner, Colonel Brandon stepped outside with his young sister.

When the Colonel returned, it was to find Marianne in the bath already. “You have started without me?” He asked, standing next to the tub.

She smiled. “It is still warm,” said Marianne as she spread her legs invitingly to accommodate him. He smiled as well, as he quickly disrobed.

He lowered himself into the bathwater, settling in between her legs as she wrapped her arms around his chest. She dampened the cloth and started to rub him, clean him tenderly.

“Darling Chris,” she said, resting her chin on his shoulder, then planting a kiss there, and on his neck, her hand sliding down his stomach, holding the cloth. “What are those parcels?” Her hand reached his manhood, and she stroked his length slowly. “Care to tell me?”

“Shame, Marianne” he said playfully, “that you lured me into this relaxing moment with motives other than to be with your loving, devoted husband.”

“I do want to be with you, my love,” she smiled mischievously, still caressing him. He was beginning to become aroused, unable to control himself. He held her hand to hinder her progress.

“Marianne… I cannot go down to sup in an… altered state.” His breathing was already uneven.

“You will not. Because I will fully take care of you right now, Chris.” She said it in a whisper, in his ear, and tried to stroke him once more. He held her hand still.

“You will not. Because I want to savor you slowly, make you quiver the whole night through. The sun will wake to see our sweat-soaked, spent bodies still loving each other, forgoing sleep completely.”

“Oh, Chris,” she whimpered, hairs standing on end.

“I will not have you rush it,” he smiled slyly as she moaned at the mere thought of what he described. He stood, and stepped out of the tub.

“And the parcels?” She asked, standing with some difficulty as her knees went weak. She now wished to rush through dinner and lie back in their room to have him pleasure her thoroughly.

“Patience, love,” he rumbled, smiling.

 

Never had Marianne eaten so fast. Christopher was amused by it, by her eagerness to be with him. He was overflowing with joy that such a promise from his lips could hold so much of her interest. He ate in a more rushed fashion as well, for he could not lie; he was intent on retiring just as she was.

Christopher disrobed before she did, changing into his nightshirt. Once she exited her dressing room in a pale blue negligée, which showed more of her than it in fact covered, she smiled to see him on their bed, holding the two parcels which stirred her curiosity all day long. She really hadn’t the faintest idea of what they could be, and didn’t understand why he would tease her as such with them, telling Margaret and not her what they were, or why he would go off to buy them alone. She entertained the notion of it being a gift for her for a second, but he was already giving her the day in his company, and allowing her to purchase all she fancied, in addition to gifting her sister a dress. He had not even let her use her pin money, leaving it available for other future purchases she might wish to make. There really needn’t be a gift for her. _He_ was already a gift to her himself.

“For you, my life,” he stretched out his hand as he held the parcels and smiled.

“For me? But you have already given me so much, Chris, there really needn’t… why would you?” She was blushing, as she took the packages and sat beside him on the bed.

“Because you are my lovely wife whom I adore with all my heart. And because I must apologize profusely for my behavior yesterday. Dragging you home as such. Being so despicable. I could never forgive myself. That is not the sort of husband you deserve, sweet angel sent from above that you are.”

“Chris…” She put the parcels aside for a moment as she held his cheeks and looked into his shame filled eyes. “You did not drag me down the street! You were upset, and rightfully so, as was I. You did nothing wrong, love. Unless wishing to protect the wife that loves you so dearly is wrong,” she smiled. She then pecked his lips. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. And you are more than I could ever deserve as a husband, and everything I ever wished for.”

He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers and then softly took her lower lip in between his.

“Does that mean you do not want the gifts?” His lips were now curled up in a jesting manner, his hand reaching for the parcels on the mattress behind her.

“I never said that!” she replied and hurriedly turned to take the parcels into her own hands. She bestowed her attention on the largest one first, as his lips danced on the back of her neck, his hand holding her hair aside, as he tried to weaken her resolve.

But she carried on, unwrapping her gifts. She first unwrapped the largest one, and found that the box held a simple string of pearls for her neck, which would coil tightly around it, but had a large red stone which hung from it. The box also contained delicate pearls which would hang from her ears.

“Chris!” She gasped. “They are beautiful! You needn’t have! Shouldn’t have!”

“Nothing is too beautiful for the love of my life,” he stated when his lips took pause from peppering her neck and shoulder with kisses. His hand gently glided over one of her breasts.

“Put it on me,” she asked softly, and he took the necklace she held up and clasped it behind her neck, which he shortly resumed kissing. It coiled snugly and beautifully around her, highlighting her elegant neck. She then moved on to the second package, although less focused, for she truly wanted to return her husband’s caresses.

Inside the smaller box she found a bracelet to match the set. She turned to him, broad smile on her lips, which he promptly kissed.

“Chris…” she managed amid his passionate kiss. “Thank you…” and again his lips took hers. They lingered in the kiss for a while. Once he moved his lips to her cheek and down to her neck, she continued.

“But you really do not need to spoil me, court me as such. I am already yours. Heart, body and soul.”

He kissed her neck, around her pearls, as he lowered her to the bed. “I must ensure that you will remain so and never regret it.”  Quickly, he pulled his nightshirt off and lowered himself over her. His hand caressed her breast, opposite the side of her neck he was kissing, and she hummed softly. He then took to kneading it, his thumb grazing her nipple, which immediately became pert at his touch. His lips lowered to her cleavage, to then cover her other breast, still covered by the fine negligée, teasing the thinly veiled sensitive peak with his tongue.

“Chriiis,” she whispered wantonly, pulling at his shoulder, needing more.

He smiled softly against her breast and lifted his gaze, to then take her lips once again. She made an attempt at turning him, so she could be on top, but he did not fully allow it, and so they remained resting almost on their sides, he still very much in control.

Christopher slowly, almost lazily, tasted her sweet, plump lips as one of his legs came to rest in between hers. Her hand grabbed at his buttocks as she felt his sweet stiffness touching her thigh and hip. She tried to pull him closer, to indicate she needed more, but he would not move. He just teasingly smiled against her lips;

“Chris…” her breathing was very heavy, and she began to slowly rock her hips as his thigh rested in between her legs, tenderly touching her virtue. She sought friction he did not seem intent on directly giving.

“Hmmm?” His lips once again descended to her neck, and his hand descended from her cheek to her breast, gently pinching her hard peaks.

“Must you torture me like this?” She breathed.

“Torture?” He asked against her ear, a sly smile on his lips until he nipped her flesh.

“Yes. Sweet… tender… yet still torture.” She said breathlessly, her hips rolling on his leg.

“I said I would savor you all night, did I not? I intend on keeping that promise,” he rumbled.

“Oh Chris… please touch me.”

“I am,” he said with mischief.

“Chriiis,” she whined.

Again he smiled, and after pinching her nipple teasingly once more, his hand glided down her side and around her buttocks. He caressed it, pulled her negligée upward, all the while his lips on hers, until a long digit reached around to find her bud of nerves and settle in between it and his thigh.

“Is this what you want?” He breathed on her lips as his finger moved in gentle, slow circles.

“Yes,” she let out in a breathless exhale. “And more. Please.”

His finger plunged into her depths and a long moan escaped her. He kissed her neck as she reveled in the feel of him, gently rocking as she gripped his shoulders. He then retracted his finger, laying her completely on her back.

“Chris… please. I need you.”

He smiled as he pushed her negligée up. “You have me, for always, my Marianne.” He was pulling off her garment. She was left wearing only her new pearls and the blush of arousal. His lips kissed hers, and then descended to her full breasts, suckling sweetly on them. And his hand… his hand finally came to rest where she so fervently wished it would rest. His fingers gently stroked her nub, and her moans filled the room as he suckled on her breasts, but at times, he swallowed them as his lips moved up to taste hers.

When she was on the brink of ecstasy, suddenly his fingers pleased her no more. Yet, she had no time to complain, for he nestled his face in between her legs, his lips avidly taking up the task of pleasuring her, her moans growing almost uncontrollably loud. She could not help but press herself against him, her fingers running through his hair. Her ecstasy washed over her in full force, and as her high took her over, he trailed kisses along her inner thighs, then up from her mound, to her navel, to her bosom.

When her senses returned to her, she longed to please him as he had her, but he was already placed in between her legs, pushing himself into her depths, and she welcomed him with a loving smile.

“My beautiful Marianne,” he rumbled as he slowly moved atop her. “ _My_ Marianne.”

“I am,” she let out breathlessly, “yours. Wholly yours.” She smiled, her fingers lightly tracing his back.

He moved leisurely, taking his pleasure and making hers rise once more. He then pulled her to sit atop him, and she took over control gladly, bouncing slowly on him, fingers sinking into his chest every time pleasure rippled through her. He gripped her thighs, sliding his hands up to her waist, admiring her lovingly, aiding her movement. He then palmed a breast, massaging it, causing her to bite her smiling lips.

Christopher then turned them over once more, so she could lie under him again. He was unable to hold back his pleasure much longer. He lifted one of her legs to rest on his shoulder and her eyes widened at how open to him she became, never having been in such a position. It felt wonderful.

He held her leg and moved in a hurried pace, groaning to feel her warmth snug around him, happy to hear this new attitude pleased her as well, as he moans grew, along with her intensely vehement agreement. His free hand came to caress her where they were joined, and it took but a few moments for both to dive into that beautiful abyss together.

He lay beside her, both still panting, and he kissed her sweat soaked neck and shoulders, holding her body against his.

“I love you,” they both whispered simultaneously. Then they chuckled at their unison.

“Chris?” she asked shyly after a moment of silence, as they lay on their sides and looked into each other’s eyes.

He just watched her, love overflowing from his eyes, waiting for her to proceed.

“We still have plenty of night left ahead of us.” Her shy, innocent countenance changed into one of mischief as her hand gently cupped his bare manhood.

He returned her mischievous smile. “Never did I state that I was finished,” he said, his hand sinking into her blond curls and pulling her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the Tower of London Menagerie (fancy code for ZOO), apparently at the time you could pay the three and a half pence... or take a cat or dog to feed the wild animals. *Oh the horror!* So that is what I was refering to.


	37. Chapter 37

            Marianne Brandon was very happy, surprisingly happy, considering the town she was stuck in and the encounter she had had a few days prior. But her husband was so incredibly thoughtful and kind towards her needs and feelings, she could not ask for anything else, nor was her mind worried about further encounters or comments. She would always be accompanied by him, no doubt, and therefore protected. The fact the frost was about to come and she would mostly remain in her home, tending to her chores, also comforted her. Perhaps an invite here or there, to Mrs. Jennings’ or even to John, her brother’s house, since he, even after Christopher’s bluntness, felt the need to drown them in fake kindness and consideration, for the sake of keeping appearances and good relations. John had in fact called the day prior. Of course Fanny would have not joined him, still worried of being related to Marianne in any way. Still, John had extended an invitation, which Christopher had graciously declined on behalf of both of them. Thank goodness he was home, for Marianne had not the disposition for dealing with such nuisance on that day, and would have probably acted in a less than fit manner.

            Her solace was that in a couple of days her loving husband would have the last of his business appointments in quite some time. The frost was not far from falling, and she would be comfortably locked in with Chris at home day after day. There could be no greater felicity. Then, as soon as the frost melted, they could head back to Delaford and their normal, quiet lives.

            The days went by and after his business, the one he had promised would be the last of then until the new year, Colonel Brandon came home to find his wife excited to meet him, planning the books they could read and all the duets they would play, and all the love they would make in the coming slow and chilly days. But there was one more place they had to be before the frost befell them. He chose to let her know about it only once they were retired to their rooms. It was probably best.

 

            They had just finished their customary bath, taken after supper on that night. Colonel Brandon dried himself off and pulled on the nightshirt he had brought in with him before he had sat in the tub with her. As she dried off and pulled her nightgown on to go brush her hair at her dressing table, he took a deep breath, and with it, he took in the courage to speak.

            “Marianne, my love…”

            “Yes, my darling?” She brushed and did not look up from her reflection in the glass.

            “While I was out this morning… I ran into an old friend.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yes. Charles Wainwright.”

            “I do not believe I have heard you talk of him. Or that I have met him.”

            “Indeed you have not. We talked for a good while, and the opportunity for some good business came up.”

            “That is nice. And did you work everything out? Or will you have to leave me alone at home once more?”

            “Well, you see… Charles demanded to meet someplace else to have the deal sealed, so to speak.”

            “That is fine, Chris,” she smiled, “I was just teasing you. If you need to go out again tomorrow, I have no issues with it.”

            He breathed deeply and continued. “He seems to have formed a tradition, you see, of throwing a ball every twelvemonth. Nearly all of London will attend it.”

            “Oh, that sounds merry!” She stated, not realizing yet the meaning of all of it.

            “You, in fact, attended it last twelvemonth,” Christopher said, worry in his voice and countenance as he stood behind a wingback chair, gripping it nervously.

            “Oh…” Marianne finally looked at him, placing her brush on the table.

            “It seems we have been invited to attend once more. And we are very much expected to show.”

            “What?! Christopher! How could you have agreed to such a thing?” Marianne was exasperated.

            “He posed the invitation in such a way I could not decline, not without exposing your… heartache, exposing us to further comment. I wished to protect you.” Protect himself as well. If there was still embarrassment and shame in what had transpired, fear, it would certainly be interpreted as still being an issue. Their marriage could be seen as of appearances only, since all would assume she still pined for the cad, and their age difference certainly did not help in convincing people they truly married out of love for each other. He would be made the fool, as would she, poor girl unbefitting for the young handsome gentleman she loved, who had to settle for the old sad man who would have her to cover up her shame. And protecting her feelings would be the only plausible excuse he could offer to Wainwright, as they could not possibly have other plans on the date, for all of London had taken to going to such a ball. Simply not showing could also bring about talk, especially since they had caused quite an impression walking the streets of London.

            “That seems very unlikely, since you are willing to expose me to painful memories and hateful people who whisper of me!” She lashed out.

            The truth was, she was terrified of embarrassing him. Of not being able to handle the looks and whispers, of breaking down and crying. And seeing Willoughby yet again, and with his wife nonetheless, who would certainly look down at her once again. And she knew not how she would feel upon seeing Willoughby acting properly. He had been rude and hurt her on the street a few days prior, and unnerved her, made her feel disgusted. But perhaps it was solely desperation in speaking to her. Strong feelings, such as love, could bring forth desperation. And if he happened to be charming towards her… she did not wish to falter. She did not think it was possible, but at this moment, all the feelings were overwhelming her. She could not know anything for sure.

            And she felt hurt, that Chris, always so attentive of her feelings and needs, would cast them aside at such a moment. She had learned to never expect anything of the sort from him, and now, it was as if the ground had been pulled out from under her, briskly. She was so very disappointed.

            “That is the furthest thing from the truth, Marianne!” He raised his voice as she had, unable to believe she would think such things of him.

            “I cannot believe you would force me to go to this ball, Christopher, knowing full well how awful I would feel! How can you be so inconsiderate towards my feelings?”

            “Why exactly would you feel so awful? It would be no different to walking down the streets with me, bidding acquaintances hello. Or is it the prospect of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby that troubles your heart? Am I being made the fool, Marianne? Is your heart still his?”

            Her jaw dropped in outrage. “I will not even dignify that with an answer, Christopher!” She turned brusquely away from him to hide the tears that began to run down her cheeks.

            He sighed deeply, regretful that he had let his temper get away from him as such, sorrowful that she could think he would not consider her feelings, or do anything else than put them above everything.

            “Forgive me for altering my tone with you, and letting my temper get the best of me,” he said gravely. “I force you to suffer nothing, Marianne. And it hurts me deeply that you would think me capable of disregarding your feelings. Know that my every step is taken considering you above all things, for you are my everything. If I suggested suffering such an evening, it was because I have weighed all options and thought this would be best. It also pains me to know that I am not a proper husband to you, that my presence and support throughout the evening would not be enough to make it bearable, at the very least. It pains me that the opinion of others, the sorrow that another man caused you, and the sense of shame I have told you need not have, outweigh what we have together and your own willingness to do me a favor. But you are right. I never should have asked such a thing of you. It was, in the end, inconsiderate of me, despite my best efforts. Forgive me.”

            He gripped the back of the chair harder, then exhaled, as a silent tear ran down his cheek. Marianne did not turn to him once during his speech. All for the best perhaps. so she would not see how weak he was. “Good night,” he bid before turning on his heels and heading to the bedchamber.

            Marianne’s silent tears turned into gentle sobbing as she realized how unfair and petulant she had been. It was true; he always did tend to her every need, be it small or great, and was so sensitive to her feelings. If he suggested it, certainly he saw something she did not. And he hadn’t forced anything, in truth. He had merely suggested. Not even that; he informed they were expected, and she did not even let him finish or allow room for them to properly discuss it. He even seemed nervous while announcing it, surely thinking she would not like the idea. It meant he knew how she felt. He had considered her feelings. He had.

            And he had mentioned, regretfully, that a business deal might depend on it. Should she be so spoiled to put her wants and fears above the good of the estate she was mistress to? Could she not do one thing for the man who gave her everything? She had been truly despicable.

            The accusation of still holding Willoughby in her heart had hit her hard. She did have reservations of seeing him for some reason she could not quite explain. What she did know, though, is that she loved Christopher deeply, with all her being. And he needed to be sure of that, always.

            She blew out the candles in her dressing room and rushed to their bedchamber. He already lay in bed, his back to her. And the covers were pulled and tucked under his arm. She crawled in behind him.

            “Chris?” She said tenderly, touching his back gingerly. “Forgive me, please. You are right. I was totally despicable. It’s just…” She began to cry more profusely, “I am terrified of being cause of shame to you! Of you realizing you made a mistake in taking me as a wife. You do not deserve to be whispered about or looked down on, and you will, due to me and my foolishness. That breaks my heart.”

            He had already begun to face her once she said she had been despicable. He had never said that. Now he faced her completely.

            “And it is true, I am afraid for myself as well. Never have I felt so inadequate and improper as when walking amongst those people. I am not looking forward to feeling that again.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks full speed, and he tried to wipe them away.

            “Shhh. Marianne. I never said you were despicable,” he said quietly.

            “But I was! I did not even allow you to talk and expose your reasons… I just thought about myself and accused you of horrible things, when you put me first at every turn.”

            “Stop crying, my love. Know that never in all my life have I made a better decision than the one of asking you to be my wife. That decision is the only one which will bring me happiness every day, for the rest of my days. And nothing, much less the opinion of others, will ever change that. Do not cry. We are not going; it has been settled already. No need to worry any longer.” He wiped more tears.

            “No. No. we must go. You need to close your business. And I want to do this for you. I want to do anything in my power for you, Chris. You are right. You always make me feel safe, and loved, and as if I am the most important woman in the world.”

            “You are, my Marianne.”

            “And that is enough. It is all I need. To be well seen in your eyes, and loved by you. What do I care what anyone else thinks or says of me? Your support, having you beside me, will get me through anything. As long as your good opinion of me does not change for the worse, does not get influenced my whispers. I would rather die than see that happen.”

            “Marianne. You are my heart and soul, the light of my life. You will never lose my good opinion, love. I love you with every fiber in my body. My love for you is deeper than the ocean. It will never waver, I assure you.” He kissed her forehead, still rubbing his thumb on her cheek.

            “You must know that I love you too. With all my heart. You are my everything, Chris. My all. I will not lie and say the thought of seeing… that scoundrel again, and being looked down at by his wife do not faze me. I am apprehensive. But that does not mean anything of the sort you think…”

            “I know. It was unfair for me to say such things, Marianne. Forgive me.”

            “Forgive me, Chris. I love you.” She held his cheeks and kissed him desperately. “I love you. I would do anything for you. Please know that. Forgive me. I love you. Forgive me.”

            “Shhh… there is nothing to forgive. Calm yourself, sweetheart, and let us sleep. We can discuss it further on the morrow. Just know I never want to see you cry, or see you uncomfortable in anyway. It was never my intention.”

            Marianne pulled herself as close to him as she could, nuzzling his neck, taking in his smell. He embraced her, resting his head on hers. And as such, they slept.


End file.
